


Ashes to Ashes

by kateofallpeople



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, Curses, Dead Ron, F/M, Ginny Bashing, Ministry of Magic, Nightmares, Pining Harry, Post - Deathly Hallows, Post-Hogwarts, Relocation, Secret Identity, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 111,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateofallpeople/pseuds/kateofallpeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war was harder on some than others. Worse than most is Hermione, who is woken from awful, gory nightmares by her own screaming each and every night after the death of Ron. The only person who may feel as lost as she does is mysterious 'Ben', who knows more about Hermione's past than she thinks he should. She has seen those familiar grey eyes before, so often in her nightmares...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream about a fic like this the other night, and have since decided to start it... I've got a rough outline of how this goes and how it will end, but if you know me you know it could very well change in just a few short chapters. Just as a sort of introduction - current time is September, '98. The war ended a few short months ago, and while it has been grievously difficult for most, everyone is starting to move on. Well, almost everyone.

The sitting room was nearly empty, save for a rather squishy futon and a small table with a muggle television on top. The room itself held less space than most, and just a small part of an equally small flat on the south end of London. The walls were blank except for a trio of framed photographs - one of the Weasley family along with Hermione Granger and Harry Potter some time towards the end of the summer between fourth and fifth years. One of Harry and Ginny, wrapped close together, smiling into the lens and waving. The last was of Ron Weasley on his own, a calm sort of smile on his face, right after the start of his brother Bill and sister-in-law Fleur's wedding. He'd combed his hair for once, Hermione had insisted on it and Molly had threatened him into it, in the end. That picture was one of the last ever taken of him, and certainly the last happy one. Hermione saw it every morning as she had tea, as Harry and sometimes Ginny woke and rose from Harry's bedroom for breakfast, which would happen in just a few short hours.

Hermione's current visions of Ron were not so sweet. Though she had been dreamless so far that night, she'd never been a night since the war without the nightmares. Gory, bloody, disgusting nightmares, frightening her awake and sometimes right off the futon in Harry's sitting room. Tonight's was one of the worst - it was like someone had peeled her eyes open and forced them to stay that way while she watched Ron's death in slow, excruciating detail.

_"Harry Potter can't save you now!" She couldn't see the face beneath the hood, she never could. She hadn't that night, either. Hundreds of pairs dueled and battled around them, but Hermione only had concentration enough for whatever Death Eater was before her, attempting to kill her with every flick of his wand. She was quick, though; deflecting defensive spells was something she'd become quite good at over their months on the run. Before she could think another thought, she heard Ron's voice as always._

_"Hermione! Your right side!" Ron had been up half a staircase and Hermione had been at the bottom, where another hooded and masked Death Eater turned the corner and had shot a stunning spell at her side, blasting her out of the way and her wand out of her hand. Ron had knocked someone who was clearly a werewolf completely unconscious, and sent a jet of light at one of Hermione's attackers, and then the other, irritating them both. She watched them both turn on him in horror, her wand was just too far out of reach... just a few more feet..._

_But it was already too late. It always was. Just as she grabbed her wand from a pile of rubble, she saw the green light out of the corner of her eye, turned to see Ron's face, twisted into the most determined look she'd ever seen on him, as he sank to the floor like bits of the stone statues behind him._

_"RON! NO!" A bit of stone fell onto one Death Eater - the one who killed Ron or not, it didn't matter anymore - and in a split second in which Hermione was faster than the second Death Eater, she shot a curse she didn't even recognize in cool white light. He was blown backwards onto his feet, and even through the noise and dust of a war she could still see that he stirred when he landed. Before she could move, get closer to where Ron lay - surely he couldn't be dead, not so soon after they'd finally kissed, not so soon after he'd told her he loved her and would spend the summer with her, looking for her parents - before she could move, Kingsley ducked around the corner, swept up Ron's body, and leaped the last few stairs down to grab Hermione's arm. She was roughly dragged to a standing position and pulled down innumerable passages and halls until she found herself in a quiet corner. He left her there with Ron without a word. Ron had died protecting her, distracting two fully trained Death Eaters so that they couldn't harm her. She was dreaming it all as if she were in the same place she was that night, wishing she could switch places with him, that someone with such a caring family and good friends could live instead of the girl who most people couldn't stand, the girl who had altered her own parents memories..._

_Unlike the acual night, Ron's eyes flew open, and the sweet blue eyes she was used to were replaced with fiery red ones, looking at her like he wanted to harm her. Voldemorts eyes. His body rolled over towards her, from a few feet away, and even when she scrambled back it clawed at her with Ron's hands that had held her face, scratched at her with Ron's nails that she'd chastised him for letting them grow out. He clawed at her legs, rolling over and not seeing, gashing her skin, which seeped blood onto the wood floors of Hogwarts below her, as his eyes turned back and forth to blue and to red again before finally, revoltingly, melting out of his skull like snow would on the first warm day of spring..._

She woke screaming, her pillow tossed off the futon and blanket tangled around her legs. That's why she hadn't been able to 'move'. The light flickered on in the hallway, and a silhouette nearly filled the doorway, long and lanky.

"You alright?"

Hermione sat up, clutching the blanket around her. Harry was her best friend, and he'd seen her in underwear or less on a big handful of occasions, but she always felt self-conscious after the nightmares. Panicked, even. "I'm... I'm fine. Another nightmare."

"Not any better than the last?"

"No. Worse. Ron, he..."

The figure held up a hand, and then took a step towards her. Harry's tired face came into focus, his hair in disarray. He'd left his glasses in his bedroom, and couldn't see too well without them, but felt his way to the futon that, by day, was the couch in his living room. He sat down beside her, slipping an arm around her waist.

"It's all a dream, Hermione. I wish I could help..."

"You've done enough letting me stay here so long. I've been here over four months..."

"And you can stay for another four, if you need. You haven't been sleeping. Jobs are hard right now. Just... take your time. I think everyone in our world knows you've suffered a few big losses."

"Everyone has, Harry, but they're all getting on fine."

"Not everyone is 'fine', Hermione. And you're clearly worse than most."

She said nothing to this, only rested her head on his shoulder.

He stood, trying not to pull the blanket away from her. It was one thing for them to have had to change in front of the other on the hunt for horcruxes, or for Harry to run amok in the morning looking for his work trousers, but it was another thing entirely when Hermione's eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks shining, hair wilder than he'd seen in it weeks.

"Get up and get dressed. I'll make coffee, strong. I've got work in a few hours anyway."

"I'm sorry to have woken you, Harry, I meant to place a silencing charm on the hallway but I fell asleep too quickly and..."

"No worries. Don't. I wouldn't have offered you my couch if I hadn't meant it. And you're... you're my best friend. The only one left. Come on." He walked through the sitting room, around the small corner of a dining area and into the tiny kitchen, pulling things from shelves.

"And don't worry about waking me up. Work's been slow anyway, I've been napping through half of my shifts. The ministry thinks it unsafe for me to be out hunting down dark wizards like I was hired for - and like I've been doing for the last year. Huh."

At this Hermione stretched, rolling her eyes. She'd heard plenty from Harry about work, about being hired as an Auror - the youngest in decades - and then having to sit around the office so the ministry didn't have to put the boy who lived in a compromising position. Again. Harry had opted out of returning for a seventh year at Hogwarts, it wouldn't have been the same and the place held bad memories for them now. The ministry had administered an early exit exam for those who had been in seventh year during the war, whether or not they had been in classes. If they could pass most of the NEWT level work, they didn't have to go back for another year. Thankfully Hermione, Harry, and many of their friends had passed. She stood, reaching into the open drawer of a side table to the futon, and pulled out a simple blue cotton dressing gown, which she wrapped snuggly around herself and held as she walked to the dining table and sat down.

"You applied for anything lately, Hermione?"

She chuckled so hard she snorted. "Yeah. They love my cover sheet. I'd love to work for you because I have no money, no family, live on my friend's couch, annoy his girlfriend, have bushy brown hair and no sense of humor, and oh! I have gruesome nightmares that wake me up every night, so I sleep through half the day, too. They're all clambering after me."

"I would be." Harry grinned, and Hermione had to follow. Even in her current situation, sometimes Harry was the only person she talked to. Well, most of the time, he was the only one she talked to. Ginny seemed to have an air of privacy about her nowadays that didn't include being very friendly with anyone but Harry. Harry, who at this point was clearly struggling to keep a conversation going with her. He had been less chatty over the last four months, as had she, and it had put a strain on all of their friendships. What was there to gossip about when you'd just fought in a war? What was there to celebrate when you'd watched your friends die? But Harry usually managed a topic, and he did not fail this morning.

"What about the dinner? You should go, you haven't been lately and everyone asks about you."

Oh, the dinners. He could have mentioned anything else and it would have brought her less fear. The ministry had a long-standing tradition of holding galas in a pristine, expensive-looking ballroom once a month or so for only the most valued of guests. Those who made the list - higher up ministry officials and their secretaries, department heads, foreign officials, war heroes, and the ministry's employee of the month - all gathered together in fine evening attire for dinner, drinks, and dancing. Even after the war, these dinners had not stopped, and had in fact only grown in grandeur and exclusivity. Harry and herself were almost always on the list, along with a scattering of Weasleys, the Longbottoms, the Finnegans, Dean Thomas, Lavender Brown, the Patils, and a handful of others that had fought side-by-side at the Battle of Hogwarts. The dinners were always gourmet, exquisite, the drinks potent, the music loud but elegantly so.

The only thing Hermione ever saw when she went were images from her nightmares - Dean's head being smashed by the club of a giant, his head rolling to her feet. Neville being torn apart by a myriad of poisonous plants, his flesh bubbling and burning under her nose. The list went on. She'd been to the first one, had failed miserably at keeping her composure, and had resigned to apparating back to Harry's flat, getting sick in his bathroom, and trying to keep herself awake so that she might not dream again.

"I think not. I don't have anything to wear, anyway, and it's just... too hard on me right now."

"You sure?"

"I'm certain. But you and Ginny have fun. Will she be over again tonight?"

Harry blinked down at the pan on the stove. "'Fraid not. She'll be going to the dinner with me and then heading straight back home to the Burrow. She's upset that she didn't get into the school she was aiming for, she's over at her mum's trying to write an appeal. Molly is probably just telling her to be sensible, but you know Gin... not the most level-headed."

Hermione smiled weakly. "Yeah, that's her all right." The understatement of the year.

Harry wrapped his little breakfast sandwich in a napkin and pointed to the one leftover in the pan. "There's yours. I forgot I've got a meeting this morning, they get to tell me all about the things I've been missing, and I have to prepare notes on what all I'm not doing. Haven't even thought them up yet. Damn, I should be going..."

Harry walked into his bedroom, and shut the door, emerging later in the emerald green robes that Aurors now wore. They went brilliantly with his eyes, and he knew it. As did the girls in the offices around him. "I'll call."

"I'll be home." She raised her coffee cup in mock cheers and watched him leave, thinking about everyone that night at the party, smiling, chatting, and dancing the night away, while Hermione lived in ratty sweats, tamed her hair when she went out to 'look more presentable', and dreamed of things that would made Voldemorts hair curl, if he'd had any.

Hermione swirled the contents of her mug. "Happy Birthday to Me."

* * *

"Holloway. Ben Holloway. Ben. Ben Holloway. Almost officially."

He regarded his reflection carefully, paying attention to the curve of his cheeks, the slightly more angled nose. His hair was a little darker and shorter now, almost sandy blonde and easier to run his hands through. His skin had been charmed a few shades darker, nicely off setting his light eyes. He'd asked that his eyes remain the same, and he'd been granted that one privilege, that one thing left from his old life. Even his hands were a little bigger now, arms longer. He'd been made taller by at least four inches, to where he now towered over even some of the taller men in his office. The chin was nice, though, a definite improvement from the pointy thing he'd had as a child. His face now grew hair, a little coarse golden stubble that only showed a little dark if he hadn't shaved in a few days. He hadn't. He probably should before tonight's dinner.

He thought again about his relocation. In the hours after the war, aurors and ministry officials had gathered those who had been suspected of being in league with the Dark Lord. He had considered running, with his family, but what good would that bring him in his life? Even his father had pushed him along. There had been a rumor of relocation. Not everyone would be granted it - obviously a Death Eater would not be allowed that pardon - but perhaps the son of one, would. He'd turned himself in, identified himself, and had just as soon realized that he felt better about his life than he ever had. If he was granted relocation - and after a week of interrogation, memory charms, and truth telling potions, he was - he could begin a new life. He'd be on probation at first - given a specific job, watched constantly, his communications monitored. But all of that had seemed trivial at the time, and it was. He'd only had one visit from a tiny little wizard man, who had taken his picture, changed his appearance, and taken another one. He'd given him his new identity and left. That was it. No pressure, no shame.

He'd gone to every dinner so far, and had mingled as much as he knew how. While people didn't know who he was, it was almost difficult to greet them like strangers and pretend he hadn't known people who had murdered their family members in cold blood. With one last glance in the mirror, he straightened his tie. A muggle suit was never a bad idea for these occasions, only some of the oldest witches and wizards left in the ministry still wore dress robes. His suit was sharp, tailored to fit him perfectly, even in his new frame. And it should be, it cost him nearly a month's paycheck, not that he needed it.

"Ben Holloway." He repeated it to himself once more in the mirror before stepping out the front door and into a waiting cab.

"Harry? Is that you? Oh, I'm so glad to see you!"

Ben took another sip off his whiskey, straightened his tie for the millionth time, and turned away. If there was one person he hadn't had the nerve to face, it had been Harry Potter. And, by attachment, his girlfriend Ginny Weasley. Both were usually dressed as sharp as he was, but it was almost dull hearing witch after wizard after witch greet Harry, tell him how proud of him they were, and the like. In the next moment, a girl in the tallest heels he'd ever seen had bumped into him, her curly hair tied up on top of her head. He recognized Lavender Brown immediately and it was all he could do not to show it. She apologized, made sure she hadn't spilled anything on him, and went on her way.

He only ever stood around listening, at this point. He never danced with anyone, rarely was up for a chat - not that anyone here knew him anyway. As far as they knew, he'd just moved here a few months ago to start on a project in the Department of Mysteries. Being an Unspeakable made it easier for him to avoid small talk - he couldn't talk about his position, and if he said it plainly enough, most people just left him alone.

"Good to see you too, Gran. Neville, how's the leg?"

"Better every day. Still hurts a bit."

He tuned out for a bit, finding the melting ice in his glass to be more interesting than another story about the swelling and pain in Neville's leg. It had been cursed in the war, but it was contained. It was all his Gran could talk about, she was so bloody proud of him for fighting. Moments later, he tuned in. There was another name he recognized, one he connected quite painfully, almost literally.

"Hermione still alright? She hasn't been around much."

"No, she's... ill. She's been having night terrors, can't sleep. Gets her sick sometimes. She'll be fine." Harry seemed to wave it off as unimportant, making people think she was okay. But Ginny's cough and following comments made sure that wasn't true.

"She's not _okay_ , Harry. She's screaming her head off every night. Harry's just moved into The Ivy, and she wakes up half the neighbors. When I stay over - and I'm over pretty often - I'm just afraid she's going to get him kicked out. But he insists on letting her stay in our - his - sitting room, on the couch! She hasn't left, hasn't even tried."

"Gin, we've talked about this. There are silencing charms on the walls. Nobody else can hear her."

"No, nobody except _us_. Honestly Neville, she wakes us up every single night with her screaming. 'Not him! No, not her either!' She needs help. I need my sleep, and if I'm going to stay at my boyfriend's, which I am at perfect liberty to do, I'd like to be able to rest before classes in the morning."

A lull fell in the conversation. After a few moments of Neville's gran tutting about in the background and Ginny announcing she was going to get them all drinks, Neville cleared his throat.

"She's that bad? Still?"

"Yeah. She can't get a job, she can't sleep half the time..."

"I'm sorry. I'd help if I could, but with treatments for the leg and all..."

"Don't worry about it, Neville. She'll end up alright. You know Hermione. She'll bounce back."

Neville said his goodbyes to Harry, and Ginny returned with too many drinks for the two of them. Irritated, she set them down on a random table that wasn't her own and jutted her hip out, not looking at Harry. Ben had heard this conversation once before, at last month's dinner. It seemed to be a big problem between precious Potter and his snarky girlfriend. It wasn't his problem, anyway. But he wished there was something he could do. In the years that he'd been aware of Hermione Granger, she certainly hadn't been his favorite person in the world. And now that he'd been relocated, knew no one, worked a new job, he thought it would be easy to separate himself from everyone else and live his life out in solitude.

It was only ten, but he made the decision to duck out of the dinner early and head home. This was the biggest perk of his relocation - being able to spend his inheritance. He'd bought a large flat in the heart of London outright - he owned it now and did with it what he pleased. He had painted the walls a soft grey, and almost everything else in the room was black or white. Everything was neutral, very clean looking, and shiny and/or new, just how he liked it. It was a simple flat, but lush. A new kitchen and marble bathroom, large sitting room with big glass windows taking up most of the wall out onto the balcony. His master bedroom, which lead into said bathroom, was again dark, in greys and emerald green this time. There was a small guest bedroom on the opposite side of the apartment, across from the kitchen, and it was furnished but unused. He hadn't stepped foot in it in the three months since he'd completed it. He'd only taken the two bedroom because it had the best view of the city.

Speaking of the view, there was a rather large owl blocking it. Ben pulled open the sliding doors, allowing it in, and took the letter from it's beak. He rummaged an owl treat out of a small bag by the door and offered it to the owl, who took it and left. He recognized the letter. Department of Relocated Persons. He opened the letter and read through the usual blab - he's still being watched, they're still tracking him, but so far he has been perfectly compliant. He's moving onto the last stage of his relocation, the permanent parts of it. The name change.

_Tomorrow, Sunday the 20th of September, a member of the Department will be coming to your house to finalize all legal name and identity changes from Draco Abraxas Malfoy to Benjamin "Ben" Andrew Holloway. A blood contract will be completed and final photographs will be taken. Your cooperation is of the utmost importance._

_Allison Merryweather_

_Department of Relocated Persons_

He had expected the news to be upsetting - sad, even. But Draco felt only a huge wave of relief. This was a chance for him to lead a new life free of the shame and guilt of the old one. He was Ben Holloway now. And Ben had a future, for now.


	2. Chapter 2

_The warm beam of gold light keeps growing, but the warmth doesn't feel right. It's just too hot to mean anything good, and yet she sees it spanned between Harry and Voldemort, standing in the courtyard at Hogwarts school. Has something gone wrong? Has Voldemort somehow created a curse to kill all of them? Or, at the very least, Harry? It's hotter still, though the pair connected seems to be frozen in place by magic. Hermione can feel sweat beading on her forehead, can feel her throat grow hoarse as she screams for Harry to step away, to get out, something is wrong._

_He does not back away. Determination slowly fills his features, and now everything is happening in such slow motion that she can't even think properly. The beam, still growing, has risen to swallow Harry whole, embalming his body in molten gold light. This is wrong, it all feels wrong. Nobody else is doing anything, and on second glance - they're all looking at her, staring at her. Doesn't she know how to stop this? Isn't she as smart as she pretends to be? She hears a voice, but can't quite place it._

_'Come on, know-it-all. Can't you think up a way to save your best friend? We'll all die, if you don't.'_

_It seems to come from just one person and yet everyone at the same time. As it finishes, Harry's body is blown to oblivion, scraps of it landing on the faces turned in her direction, red slipping down their eyes and noses. His glasses land at her feet, whole and unbroken, but she can still see the ghosts of his eyes through them. It smells like burning, and parts of his flesh are doing just that. One has caught Ginny's hair on fire, and Ron's as well, though Ron is already dead there in the corner. Their fiery red hair is truly in flames, and Ginny is going down along with Harry now, her eyes pleading with Hermione to think of a way to stop all this madness..._

She wakes with a start. They're getting worse. Somehow they're getting to her more each and every night. The images, sounds, smells even, of blood and noise and... kitchen pans? Breakfast sausage? Oh.

Hermione rolled onto her side, reaching for her tossed pillow and dressing gown. There's a commotion in the kitchen that is surely not Harry. To be sure, Hermione stood and walked towards the kitchen, images of her latest nightmare still flashing through her brain. Ginny's bright hair flashes into view, recalling images of fire and death, and Hermione shuddered. More pan noises brought her out of her mind again. Ginny was noisier than Harry, more careless.

"I see you're awake." Ginny doesn't say it with a friendly tone, more as an observation. Hermione didn't expect anything else.

"Yes. Nightmares again."

"I know. You were screaming again."

Hermione thought about apologizing, but held her tongue. These things weren't her fault. "Harry said you weren't coming over last night."

At this, Ginny stopped suddenly, and the kitchen was absent noise except for the sizzle of sausage in the pan - clearly just enough for two people, and Hermione could bet that she wasn't included.

"Why does it matter to you? It's no worry of yours if I stay with my boyfriend or not."

"I didn't mean it like that... I just didn't expect it."

"Well, don't sound so surprised. I came by after dinner, I wanted to see him. He seemed happy with it."

Hermione didn't know what to say to this. Ginny's temper was famous, and her attitude this morning was no exception. She backed out of the kitchen, brows raised, on a search for Harry. She found him in the bathroom, toothpaste dripping down onto his shirt, hair in its usual post-sleep mess.

"Morning, Harry."

"'Ou doo. Breafast?"

"There's... not enough. I'll pass. It's a nice morning, I think I'll go get coffee and read down at the shop."

Harry frowned, spitting foam into the sink. "Okay. I told her to make enough for all of us... anyway. If you won't stay for breakfast, what about tea? I'm heading out with Neville. We're going to that little cafe on the south end, great sandwiches..."

Hermione was blinded by the sudden image of Neville in a nightmare not too long gone - his eyes rolling back in his head, body twitching and jumping nearly a foot off the ground, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as Bellatrix Lestrange blasted him again and again with the Cruciatus curse.

"I think I'll pass. Errands... it's Saturday."

"Yeah, and I'm not going in. Thought we could do something."

"Last time we tried seeing people..."

"Oh, the thing with Seamus?" Harry gargled, looking at her, and spit again. "He's fine. I told him about the nightmares - you know, the one you had - and he said it was fine. It's been hard on everyone."

Hermione thought back to nearly two months previous. It had only been two months since the war, everyone was still a disaster, but even then signs were showing that outed Hermione as the worst of them all. Just the night previous she'd watched as Fenrir Greyback tore the bottoms of Seamus's legs off, and Seamus pleaded with Hermione to fix him, to remember a way to heal him, while he dragged himself and his bloody leg stumps towards her. It hadn't gone well. She'd blacked out momentarily, re-awoken back at Harry's with a throbbing headache. She'd run out of the pub screaming, pointing at Seamus, shouting 'No!'. Harry had tried to chase after her but she'd apparated away - even splinched herself. There was still a small chunk of the pad of her thumb missing.

"Yes, well... I just... don't know. And I've got things to do, too."

Harry sighed. "Fine. But soon, we're going to see people... it's going to happen. And you'll be back for supper tonight. Gin won't be here until nine and I don't want to be alone. Don't make me make you swear on it..."

At this, Hermione was able to truly smile. It had started in their fifth year and become a sort of running joke between only the two of them. If Hermione or Harry was ever supposed to promise anything, the other would make them swear on something completely ridiculous in turn. Harry had once made Hermione swear on 'Hogwarts, A History' that she wouldn't skip a meal to read for an entire week.

"Fine. Dinner. And maybe, eventually."

Harry walked back into the sitting room and Hermione followed, thinking she might only grab her things and go. Her plan of leaving was halted by Harry pulling up a chair beside him and offering her a sausage. She couldn't really turn it down, her stomach had been growling all morning and she knew Harry had to have heard it while they spoke. She reluctantly took the chair beside him, and the sausage bit in his fingers, and raised it to her lips. The instant it touched her tongue, however, her mind lashed out.

She remembered burning flesh, Harry's glasses at her feet. She only had a moment to stand and cross the kitchen before retching the practically non-existent contents of her stomach into the sink. As she did, she heard Ginny gasp behind her.

"Those are clean dishes, Hermione! Harry, make her move! That's disgusting!"

Hermione got the last of it up, wiped and rinsed her mouth, and turned to see Harry giving Ginny a very stern look. She bolted out the door, wallet in hand, mumbling that she'd ring if she needed to. Now, her only issue was finding a way to occupy herself for the day to avoid lunch, while also finding time to eat something without it coming straight back up. In the distance she could hear Harry through the open window. "You're going to shout at my best friend over a few dishes? You're a witch, I'm a wizard. It would take ten seconds to fix. You know how she is, and you weren't even going to come over last night..."

Hermione shook her head, attempting to clear it. Harry and Ginny had been essentially attached at the hip since the end of the war, each of them clinging to their precious love to protect them. Hermione wasn't given that blessing, the only man she ever thought she might have loved was killed in front of her. Life had a way of screwing over those who deserved it the very least.

She'd read a bit about PTSD, even while she was younger. People sometimes experienced it after traumatic events, and it could last weeks, months, even years. Some people were never the same again. It was common in soliders coming back from wars, from people who had seen violence or death or frightening images. Hermione had seen all of the above, and didn't doubt that this was in part what had caused her such grief. But it seemed to be more than that, the nightmares constantly growing in intensity in her head, threatening to drive her mad or worse.

There was only place Hermione knew she could get a good Chai Latte and read for a while. The Wardrobe was a tiny cafe nestled on a street corner in the heart of London, and a perfect place to hide, surprisingly. There was a larger chain coffee and tea shop just half a block over that attracted most of the crowds, with just a trickle of loyal customers inhabiting and passing through the Wardrobe. It was decorated, in hints, like something out of it's namesake novel by C. S. Lewis. Warm brown walls in fading patterns and papers, coat hooks everywhere, a rather chipper older man named Bernard stood behind the counter reading his own book. The shelves around the place were stocked with books of his own collection and of many others - it had a reputation for being a place you could just borrow a book from for weeks, or a place to leave your own when you were finished for someone else to find. In short, it had been Hermione's haven for the last few months, as had the fictional stories that surrounded her. Once lost in another world, she found herself able to drift farther and farther from her own shocking reality.

* * *

"Morning, Holloway." It was Arthur Weasley again, his voice and his slim frame scraping through into the lifts. "In on a Saturday again, I see."

When Draco had first come into the office as Ben Holloway, he was surprised at just how many friendly faces there were. He was used to looks of scorn and contempt, but here as a stranger he was treated much differently. Arthur had suffered a difficult time in the war, to say the least. He'd lost two of his sons and now apparently his daughter was rarely around, frequently out with Harry or out on the town and unable to be reached. Draco felt for the man. He hadn't suffered many personal losses, besides his identity. But that had been a personal choice. Arthur had been struck twice.

"Yes, Arthur." It surprised him to hear the ease at which he talked to the man. "Not much else to do."

Arthur, like many others, had heard his story. Work detail. Relocation from 'up north'. Unspeakable. Quiet. Lost his family in the war. A sort of generic story that would make him relatable to most who had lost in the war, and would keep people from asking too many questions, as they wouldn't want questions asked of them.

"I see. Big work up in my department today, though I'm sure there's lots going on for you downstairs, as well."

Ben smiled, nodding. "Always big work in the Department of Mysteries."

He hesitated a moment, then spoke. "You don't know where I might be able to find Hermione Granger, would you? OUr parents were old friends, grew up together, and I thought it might be nice to get together for tea."

He knew that Arthur wasn't someone he should have asked. Hermione had loved his son, just before his death, and it could only bring bad memories. But Arthur seemed in a daze over the past few months, and simply turned his head.

"She's staying with Harry. Potter, of course. They're at the Ivy. Third floor, right side flat."

"Thanks."

Arthur only nodded and took his leave, and the elevator started its descent again. When it reached Draco's floor, he was greeted only by his direct supervisor, a middle-aged wizard named Broderick who kept to himself most of the time and let Draco run wild in his office. Saturdays were nice. Saturdays were optional, at the Ministry, and Draco usually went in to give himself something to do. He'd packed his lunch in a thermos - on Fridays, he cooked big full meals that would feed him for a full few days - and set down to work.

Eight hours later he walked through his front door after apparating onto the front step. His post-work routine was mandatory, there was no way he could possibly just flop down on his couch after work. He removed his red-spattered shirt and work pants in the doorway of his bedroom, tossing them into a bin just inside and to the left of the door. There was still a bandage from a needle prick in his left arm, which he ripped off and disposed of in a sanitary basket in the bathroom. After a quick hot shower in which he scrubbed under his nails, through his hair, and between his fingers, her dried in haste and changed into his standard flannel pants and white cotton shirt. Ben Holloway looked much better in this ensemble than scrawny Draco Malfoy had. Where Draco had narrow shoulders and a smooth, child-like face, Ben was all scruff and broad shoulders and hip bones.

He made himself a cup of tea, trying once again that day to work around his current set of thoughts, all of which revolved around Hermione Granger. The first time he'd heard she wasn't doing well was in June, just after the war, and then once again just briefly in August when Ginny lodged her first complaint about Hermione staying at Harry's flat. When it had been mentioned a third time and all emotions - Ginny's frustration, Harry's patience and worry, and friends and family's concern - it had started to irk him. The people around her were all moving on. He had. Why couldn't she? The nightmares he'd heard about were awful, and from Harry saying they were 'daily' and 'disturbing', he couldn't blame Granger for feeling a little... off. He himself had felt uneasy at times, but nothing compared to what it sounded like she was going through.

Why was this his problem? Why was it even on his mind? Draco Malfoy had been disgusted with the idea of Hermione's very existence, yet Ben Holloway felt something like pity for the girl. No, not pity. That would imply some sort of pompous better-than-thou opinion, and it certainly wasn't like that. It was almost a feeling of grief, of a debt unpaid, of something unfinished. Ben Holloway knew a loathesome little brat named Draco Malfoy who had deposited nearly half a million Galleons into his account before his 'disappearance'. That, of course, was not known to the public, but was known to his new identity. He'd done it himself. He'd taken his parents money, dropped it into his own account, and had gotten a job despite it all, for pretense's sake. He had more money than he needed, but here was a woman who needed the money more than himself.

How much did a decent flat in London cost? He'd bought his outright, and he remembered there being quite a few zeroes at the end of the sum, but he'd written it off without a care. It was money. He had plenty of it. He could give her enough to get her own place for a few months - and then what? Hope it perked her up enough to get a job, to do something with herself. Extra for incidentals, food, and the like.

He figured he owed her as much. Well, that was complicated too. Draco owed a lot of people a lot of things, but the only one Ben seemed able to help was Hermione. Or, rather, the only one Ben had genuinely been able to and somehow wanted to help, had been her. How would he give it to her? He supposed mailing a check for thousands of pounds was not a good idea. Especially since his post was being watched and sorted through and it would certainly be confiscated before she even saw it. A war criminal's son sending post to two war heroes? Right. But meeting her might provide tricky too. What would he do? Stalk her into a corner and thrust an envelope at her containing more money than some people had seen in their entire lives? He doubted that would work. But what other options did he have?

He supposed this was something he had to at least try to do. So far he'd done absolutely nothing to make him worthy of this second chance he'd been granted. Even when the ministry worker had come by his flat that morning, he hadn't had much to say. _What have I been doing? Oh, working, not talking to anybody, eating a lot of take away._ Maybe if he did this, if he could get this out of the way, he could start feeling like he finally deserved this second chance. It was a risk he was willing to take.

* * *

She still had the spare key on her keyring, and wasn't surprised to find the door unlocked anyway. Her parents had brought her up in a pristine, safe neighborhood full of respectable people. She doubted there had been any more activity in the house than a knock on the door from a concerned neighbor, wondering where they'd been. They'd never know now, would they?

Months ago she'd had the place cleared out, everything stuck in storage. She'd spent the entirety of three days in the house, directing muggle movers to every corner of the house and attic, clearing hers and her parents old things. She hadn't found them, and in the first few nights after the war she'd stayed at the house, but it had become too depressing. She'd woken from nightmares with nobody to turn to, nobody who had even heard her shouts. When the packing and moving was done, she had left a simple cot in the middle of the room, and it was there still. The grey paint on the walls still looked new - she hadn't noticed two months ago, but it appeared her parents had repainted just before they left. Maybe before they moved off to Australia, they had been preparing to have to show the house. In either case, Hermione had been on top of things during her short stay at the Burrow, using her parents own money in their account to purchase the deed. They hadn't recognized their own names. The house was, in theory, hers now. But it didn't feel like home anymore. Not without the two of them sitting for tea, hands clasped on the table between them. Or without her father in his favorite chair, newspaper in hand, mumbling about 'the state of things', or without her mothers perfume hanging in the air.

She sat on the cot, bouncing slightly to test its strength. It hadn't fallen into complete disuse, and she figured a night or two on it wouldn't kill her. She'd gone into Harry's flat while he'd been at lunch, grabbed whatever she needed for a few days, and stuffed it all into the beaded bag. She didn't know why she kept the damned thing after the hunt for horcruxes - there was still dust in it from their time near the lakes, pine needles near forests, and a shiny bit of sea glass from their stay overlooking the coast, the exact color of Ron's eyes. It had been the only reason she'd kept it, but in this moment it only brought a sick feeling to her stomach, twisting her insides into shapes she couldn't have identified if she'd have tried.

She pulled a pillow, dressing gown, sweats, and a tank top from the depths of the bag. Her toothbrush, hair brush, and toothpaste were all pulled out just long enough for her to use them. It was nearing ten o'clock, Harry had to have been wondering where she was. She crossed the room to the phone on the wall, picking it up. Dead. She hadn't paid the bill in months, but after retrieving her wand from the bag and flicking it just once at the phone, she found herself able to connect a call.

He picked up on the first ring. "Hermione? It says you're phoning from your parents house, is that true?"

"It is."

"Where have you been? I've been worried sick, I came back from lunch and waited, but you never showed."

Right. Dinner. And Ginny wouldn't have been there. It might have been a peaceful night for once. "I'm so sorry Harry, I've just been caught up in things, and..."

"Well, when are you coming home? Gin's not coming back until nearly twelve now, dunno why, and... I really was worried, Hermione. I worry about you a lot, recently."

Hermione sighed, switching the phone receiver to her other ear. "I know. I'm sorry. But there's nothing to worry about. I'm going to stay the night here, keep out of your hair. I just seem to keep making a mess wherever I go, it's not right."

"Hermione... don't do this to yourself."

"Do what? Keep myself from waking you up with my screaming through the night? Let you have a night in peace? Honestly Harry I didn't expect to have to stay there this long. It's bad enough."

She could hear Harry muttering to himself in the background. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. You're free to do as you like. But know that if for a second you were bothering me, I'd tell you. And that I only asked you to stay with me because I really, really meant it. I want to help you, Hermione."

"I know. But it's difficult. I can't even help myself."

After another moment's conversation they hung up and Hermione retreated to the cot in the center of the room. The walls were bare, the wood floors coated in a thin layer of dust but otherwise completely clear. It was almost relaxing, for a moment. And then she fell asleep and it all went to hell again.

_Her father had been a pediatric dentist, and her parents office was decorated as such. He'd specialised in making things comfortable for the kids, including toy trains and stuffed bears in the lobby. All of those items were scattered now, hooded shadows looming among them. Worst of all was the place Hermione was watching the scene from - as if she was sitting just outside the door to the actual office with the chairs. Only one was ever used at a time, but tonight there were two struggling forms in the chairs - those of her parents. Her mother was in the left chair, one outfitted for dental surgeries and the like. Her father was in the right, in the one used for cleanings and routine things of the sort. She could see them struggling against shackles attached to the chairs seemingly by magic, blood already traveling in rivulets down the chains and onto the white tiled floor, each drop smacking the ceramic tiles like a slap._

_Hermione's position on the floor allowed her also to see the semi-functional stoplight overhead. It was placed just outside the door, and would change colors depending on what was happening at the moment. A green meant come in, it was time for the next appointment. Yellow meant there was work being done, not to come in. Red meant there was work being finished, an operation, or, conversely, that the dentist was out for the moment._

_Presently it was solid green, and a handful of shadowed figures seemed to float silently past her into the room, picking up dental instruments as they went. Her parents screamed as she did, impossibly stuck to the floor as if she'd been rooted there. The light turned solid red. She watched them cut her parents, make them bleed and beg and plead for mercy, but the figures didn't make a sound. They would occasionally take on a form - Lucius Malfoy under one hood, Fenrir Greyback under another. She thought she saw a young man who looked remarkably like Sirius under the third. The light turned yellow for just a few moments, and then they were gone. The light went green. The next few shadows fell into place as it turned yellow again. This repeated itself for what seemed like hours, but the shadows in the waiting room only multiplied and seemingly never ended. There were harsh faces, she knew she saw Umbridge at least twice. At one point she saw a Death Eater pick up a drill and use it on her parents tongues, and on their hands and feet. It was revolting, but her consciousness could not turn away. She felt like she was going mad in the dream. The lights passed in order for some time - Green, Yellow, Red. But after ages, they were flashing out of order, events happening out of sequence, until Hermione, having gone mute in the dream, could only watch the scene fade away in a blur while the light flashed Red over and over again overhead. The doctor is out._

She woke screaming, to the sounds of birds. It took her a moment to remember that she had stayed in her parent's house, that she had not woken up only to find herself in another nightmare. She sat bolt upright in the little cot, and it creaked beneath her, begrudgingly holding her up. It had always been noisy, but was less noisy now. Skipping meals would do that, she supposed. She'd find breakfast as soon as she'd showered.

Two hours later she had showered, combed her hair through with her usual hair potions, and let it dry. She'd taken to using them to get rid of the frizz, as her normal full wavy hair called attention to her wherever she went. Attention was not anything she wanted. She dressed for the day in slim jeans, a tight fitting cream sweater, and a grey leather jacket. She topped her head off with a knit cream beret and a pretty sort of dyed grey and white scarf she'd gotten from her mother the year before. She'd need her mother's strength today. Ginny would probably be at Harry's and make an awful comment about where Hermione had been, though she herself had been out later than planned and, from how it sounded, hadn't told Harry where she was.

She packed the beaded bag with the rest of her things and grabbed tea and a pastry on her way home to Harry's. Her mouth watered, or she wouldn't have bought either. The money in her accounts, after having to repurchase her parents own house, was low. And she'd been living off a meager sum for the past four months. Time was dwindling, as was her cash storage. She walked up to Harry's door, let herself in, and was pleased to see that he was the only one home.

"Morning, Harry."

"There you are. Good to see you... Ginny's at home the rest of the weekend, I thought we'd get Thai tonight for dinner, and I've got some mail for you. Forgot to check it yesterday... here."

She flipped through the stack, mostly junk and a few letters from random witches and wizards and friends who had heard she was staying with Harry and having a hard time. People felt inclined to write, but she didn't often reply. If she did, it was always just a quick note. _Thanks for your concern, I'll do my best_ sort of thing.

One bit of mail caught her eye, though. It was a postcard of The Wardrobe. She'd seen one at the register once, they were sold as a sort of gift shop item to tourists and travelers. There was no postmark or stamp on it, meaning that whoever put it there had delivered it personally, by hand.

"Harry? Do you know who this is from?"

"Not a clue. But it had your name on it."

"It wasn't delivered by post."

"Weird. Find out what they want."

When she finished reading the postcard, however, she didn't tell Harry what it said. She wasn't even sure she believed it. It contained tiny cramped writing, definitely that of a younger man.

_Hermione,_

_I have heard from friends and colleagues that you've had a hard time after the war. I know it's not my place, as you don't know who I am, to offer assistance, but I want to do what I can. I saw you in the shop on the postcard one day and have gone back once or twice looking for you, to no avail. I know this sounds absurd, but if you'd like to meet and talk I'll be there tomorrow, Sunday, from around five in the afternoon until you show up or Bernard kicks me out. I'll be wearing jeans, a black coat, and a grey sweater. I'll sit as close to the front corner window opposite the door as I can. If not, feel free to ignore this message at all. I simply thought I'd offer a hand._

_Yours,_

_Ben Holloway_

Could she even tell Harry about this? Naturally, he'd be suspicious, but something about his ease of manner made her think this wasn't malicious. He had described what he'd be wearing. Nobody who wanted to meet for bad reasons would ever describe that. If she'd been suspicious at all, she could have called the ministry to send someone to arrest him, but that didn't seem the case here. She checked her watch, it was nearly six.


	3. Chapter 3

_When she finished reading the postcard, however, she didn't tell Harry what it said. She wasn't even sure she believed it. It contained tiny cramped writing, definitely that of a younger man._

_Hermione Granger -_

_I have heard from friends and colleagues that you've had a hard time after the war. I know it's not my place, as you don't know who I am, to offer assistance, but I want to do what I can. I saw you in the shop on the postcard one day and have gone back once or twice looking for you, to no avail. I know this sounds absurd, but if you'd like to meet and talk I'll be there tomorrow, Sunday, from around five in the afternoon until you show up or Bernard kicks me out. I'll be wearing simple jeans, a black coat, and a grey sweater. I'll sit as close to the front corner window opposite the door as I can. If not, feel free to ignore this message at all. I simply thought I'd offer a hand._

_Yours,_

_Ben Holloway_

* * *

_Could she even tell Harry about this? Naturally, he'd be suspicious, but something about his ease of manner made her think this wasn't malicious. He had described what he'd be wearing. Nobody who wanted to meet for bad reasons would ever describe that. If she'd been suspicious at all, she could have called the ministry to send someone to arrest him, but that didn't seem the case here. She checked her watch, it was nearly six._

"Harry? I forgot, I've got to stop in and pick something up that I bought yesterday..."

He poked his head out from the hallway, clearly in the middle of changing. He clutched a shirt to his midsection, and Hermione had to stifle a laugh.

"Okay. When would you be back? So I know when to call for take away."

"Probably no later than seven. Maybe even sooner than that. I don't know if it'll take them time to get it from the back. But I promise I'll come back this time."

"And you'll stay?"

"Yeah. I will. I had... awful nightmares last night. About my parents." Silence fell, and Hermione was struck by the knowledge that had Harry been decently clothed, he would have come out to comfort her. As it was, he was not, and she broke the silence by saying her goodbyes and setting off towards The Wardrobe.

She was there in fifteen minutes time by foot. The streets of London were crowded with people donning fresh clothes for cold weather, or battered old coats that kept them warm through the seasons. Umbrellas dotted the city walkways in whites and blacks and vibrant colors as bright as the sun, which was nowhere to be seen. Rain slapped the pavement on all sides of her. It had been overcast earlier in the day, but she hadn't expected a full storm when she'd made the split-second decision to meet this mysterious Ben Holloway. Hermione herself had changed into a pair of tall boots before she'd left, knowing her feet would get cold in her simple flats with no socks, now realizing that they would have been soaked through, as well. They clicked and clacked against the sidewalk, all the way to the outside of the Wardrobe. She paused a moment, sweeping her hair up and tucking it into her hood and slipping a pair of large sunglasses on her face. She'd taken to doing that just after the war, as had Harry. They were followed by Prophet reporters or others, and anonymity had been a blessing. This way, she could watch this Ben Holloway man to see if anything seemed the matter before she sat to talk to him. She shook off her wet coat and walked straight to the counter, as she usually did, and ordered a chai latte, also as usual. In moments there was a frothy, spicy beverage in a large mug being handed to her. She brought it to one of the farther back corners and took her first look at Ben.

Her very first thought was that he was attractive in the sort of off-center way that some people were famous for. He wasn't particularly muscular or big, but his large hands wrapped around a grey mug had a visible callus or two, and he looked like he'd done more than a good day's work in his life. His sweater was rolled up to the sleeves, but he'd placed his coat clearly on the back of his chair, likely to identify himself to her. His skin was a shade or two darker than hers, but still on the pale side, a sort of washed-out warm golden hue that made her think he'd be darker if he lived in a place with more sun. His hair was wheat blonde, as was the stubble on his face. The chin had a little bit of a rough, manlier chiseled look to it, making Hermione guess he was in his early 20's. Even sitting, she could see that his knees were higher than the hips in his chair. He was tall, perhaps even two meters tall, taller than most people she knew. He with lithe, but not terribly thin or weedy. He had a developed sense of man to him, of someone who had lived more years than she. His gaze said the same, clear grey eyes focused on the similarly coloured grey mug in his hands.

She watched him for a moment, noting his actions. He checked his watch once or twice, ordered another drink (she heard him order coffee, strong and black) and seemed simply content to wait. He tapped his foot just in a way so that he wouldn't slap the floor and disturb the two lone other patrons in the shop. She decided he was alright. At this point, things couldn't get much worse. She lifted her hood back, shaking out her hair and combing through it a bit with her fingers. She removed the glasses and stowed them in her pocket, standing. She walked up to his table, said nothing, and sat across from him. He looked up at her, grey meeting brown, and she saw his eyes were a dark sort of grey, and had been thinking deeply.

"You showed up." He said nothing else, but hadn't broken eye contact. She felt some sense of recognition there, but cast the thought aside. He was a stranger.

"It would be impolite not to." She rearranged herself in her chair, turning to put her purse on the back of it.

"But you showed up half an hour ago and sat in the back and watched me before you came by."

"I wanted to see if you were some insane person or something."

"And how do you know I'm not?" He raised a brow, asking her seriously. It almost made her laugh. She realized she hadn't made that judgement. Somehow, in her current state, that had been the least of her thoughts.

"I don't."

"Good. I know you don't recognize me, and you shouldn't. The name's Ben. Ben Holloway."

He seemed to hesitate a moment before offering his hand across the table, which she shook with vigor. Her father had always taught her that a handshake was an important first impression, and Ben seemed to approve.

"I know you've probably got a lot of questions, but I have virtually no answers for you. I heard Harry, Harry Potter, talking about you at the last ministry dinner. His girfriend Ginny did, too..."

Hermione chuckled. "Though I'm guessing Ginny's words weren't as kind as Harry's."

"You know?"

"Oh, I know. She's not terribly fond of me anymore."

"But don't you see how wrong that is? That you've been hurt by the war, that you've as much as she has but had to fight and sacrifice so much more, but that she's treating you like dirt?"

"Oh, I do. But I see other things too, things that strangers aren't privy to. I sleep on Harry's couch. My bedroom is his sitting room. When she wants to watch a film with him, she's sitting on my futon for a bed, pushing my things aside. Can't be easy. And she's really only nasty every so often. I'm usually granted the peace and quiet of not existing, as far as she's concerned. The foul words are just a special treat. Like I said... things can't be easy for her, I'm sure."

"Neither could have a few months on the run, dangerous deeds, and destroying horcruxes. Neither was the fun poked at you all through your school years from your peers, from people who didn't like you."

"And how do you know that?" She narrowed her eyes, wondering. Who was this man?

He sat back, grinning. "You're practically famous."

"Who are you, anyway?"

"I told you who I am. I'm Ben Holloway. I'm here on work detail, have heard loads about you. I work in the Department of Mysteries on a... well, a rather special project. I'm an Unspeakable."

He had to be a decent person if he was an Unspeakable. The ministry usually put witches and wizards through loads of tests to make sure they were the right sort before hiring them in.

"I see. And you've been here how long?"

"Since the end of May. Got here just after the war, after the ministry started up again, officially."

"I see."

"You keep saying that, like you actually have some visible proof of it."

Hermione smiled. "I have no reason to believe you're lying. Your intents don't seem malicious, and if they were I assure you I could hex you stiff before you thought twice about harming me. Call it good faith." She looked down into her mug, seeing the reflection of the cheap chandelier on the ceiling.

"Faith is believing in things when common sense tells you not to." He smirked.

"George Seaton? I should have pegged you for a classics type..."

"Film classics, yes. Literature too, but not nearly as much. Mostly I dwell in interesting quotations, regardless of source."

Who was this man, really? Spouting directorial quotes about faith and common sense... hadn't he been the one, besides all common sense, to drop a postcard in her post box telling her to meet him somewhere?

"When did you get here, again?"

"Early May. Caught an early portkey in. Ministry arranged it."

This, Hermione knew, was wrong. He'd previously stated he'd arrived at the end of May, which worked. But Hermione knew personally that the ministry had been basically non-existent for two weeks following the war, and that there was no way a portkey could have been created or authorised in that time.

"And your name is Ben Holloway..."

Something like irritation flashed across his eyes. "Yes."

"Something seems a bit off about you, Ben."

He sighed. "Well, then leave. Or at least let me tell you why I wanted to meet you here."

At least he was straightforward. "Fine. Give me your best shot."

"After what I've been hearing, the awful things... well, the awful things done to you, and all the good you've done. How you were bullied in school, your months travelling with Potter in the war, even when Ron Weasley left the two of you. How your hair hasn't always been slicked down like this, and you were made fun of for even that. Yes, Hermione Granger, I have heard a lot. And as someone with too much time, no family, and not enough hobbies, I felt I could only do my part."

He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out an envelope and sliding it across the table to her. "Trust me. If you just accept this, it's the easy way. It'll cost us both less, in the end."

She picked up the envelope, but didn't even have to remove the check to see the sum printed on it. "This is insane."

"It's not. It's a small fraction of my wealth. I've nothing to do with it."

"So you've just decided to give-" she lowered her voice to a whisper, attempting to conceal their conversation from the sole other customer in the shop, " -fifteen thousand pounds to a stranger?"

"Not to any stranger, to a war hero."

She slid the envelope back towards him. Something felt off about this. Not in a frightening way, just in a way that she couldn't comprehend. Lightening flashed outside the window and she was vaguely aware of the fact that she had told Harry she wouldn't be gone long. It had been over an hour now, and would take her at least fifteen minutes to get back in this storm.

"I'm sorry, stranger Ben, but I'm not currently accepting charity from random men in tea shops."

"You should."

"And why is that?"

"Because I know how people have treated you. Imagine - one day, learning you're a part of a world you didn't previously know existed. But just because of your birth, your own family, where you've come from and grown up - because of your blood, there were some who judged you immediately. You were worth half they were for no apparent reason at all, judged by many and ridiculed by some for something you couldn't change. Ah, the gift of belonging to a world that would explain the things that happened to you as a child. Wizards born to wizards know what is coming for them, but muggle-borns did not. And while I cannot empathize, I can sympathize."

She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I don't know who you think you are, Mr Holloway, but I'm not going to accept large sums of money from strangers."

"Fine. I'll find another way. I don't think you as of yet understand how much I mean it when I say I will find a way to help you, with your knowing or not. But like I said, Ms Granger - accepting that check would have cost us both less, in the long run."

"I don't even know what that means."

"Surprise, surprise." He smirked again, drinking from his mug while keeping eye contact with her. In the moment before she turned and left the store, she noted his eyes - very nearly the color of the storm outside the window they'd just spoken beside. Deep grey, calm, but full of power of some sort, ready to... to...

She left, shaking the thought from her head. She'd always been good with faces, but she couldn't name why his seemed almost familiar. She'd never seen the man before in her life, and his musings and attitude were almost condescending, but at the same time the very opposite. Everything about him - mannerisms, looks, dress - a description for all of them seemed to sit on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't find words for any of it. It had almost been surreal, talking to someone else for the first time in a long time.

How had he known, so acutely, what she'd been through? He'd mentioned his family in a way that made her know he wasn't muggle-born himself. _While I cannot empathize,. I can sympathize._ He had a way with words that she normally could have found attractive, intriguing. Currently, she just had a feeling similar to losing a very important thought and not being able to recall it. It was right there, some sort of hint that told her what the bloody hell was happening, here...

She reached Harry's doorway. She didn't want to reveal what had just happened - not yet. Instead she once again shook out her coat, opened the door, and smiled.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hey. Perfect timing, food should be here any minute now."

"Excellent."

When food was finished and Harry had lingered an extra few hours before retiring to bed, Hermione laid back on the sofa bed and concentrated. What had it been about Ben that had been so strange? His story clearly didn't match up, though even that seemed to be the least of her worries.

Fifteen _thousand_ pounds. With current rent prices and inflation, even over the next bit of time, she could live quite comfortably on that much money for half a year or more. It was more money than she'd ever seen put together in her life. What would exchange rate be on that in galleons? Trying to calculate made her head spin. That was one and a half thousand golden galleons. Who had that much money? Who had even more than that, so much that giving away that much was chump change?

She sighed. Tons of people, actually. Older wizarding families were extremely rich, and any broommaking families, wandmakers, shop owners... in the wizarding world, the market was limited, and selection was scarce. She knew that nearly anyone who ran something as little as a shop would have money like that. That made things harder. And working as an Unspeakable? She had heard rumors that they made more than any other figure in the ministry, more than even the minister himself. All of that, actually, fit together. His coming into the city seemed off, but the rest wasn't so bad.

She drifted off to sleep thinking of Ben, and wasn't surprised that she saw him in her sleep, too.

_The Wardrobe was empty, even behind the counter, except for one man. Ben. He was standing in a grey suit jacket and pants, white shirt underneath. He looked immaculate, well-dressed, as he had in her waking hours. But this Ben was afraid of something. He was standing quite near the door, as if he'd tried to escape but had somehow gotten stuck. She was watching from the doorway as he struggled to reach her, to leave the building, but he could not. All went still for just a moment before he spoke._

_"You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you don't trust enough."  
_

_All at once the room turned to fire and smoke, filling both their lungs. As he spewed and choked, suffocation from lack of real air in the room, he blamed her for what he could between breaths._

_"This is your fault..."_

_"If you would have just let me help you..."_

_"Now you can't help me, either..."_

_Besides a charred black shape of a man, the last thing left of Ben was his eyes, shriveling in his skull. His eyes were grey, deep grey, and she was immediately struck with the notion that she'd seen those eyes somewhere else before..._

She woke, panting. It was the eyes, after all, that had seemed familiar and unsettling. Her mouth was dry, and she swore she could taste ash on her tongue when she moved it around her mouth, trying to salivate. She must have coughed herself awake with such a dry mouth and throat, which would explain feeling like she was suffocating in smoke in her nightmares. The light outside the window had just begun to lighten. The night had passed, and she knew she would be granted a day without sleep before night would fall again.

She spent the hours before Harry woke thinking once again about Ben. Yes, he had been mysterious, almost pressuring her into taking quite a sum of money from him. But there was a man behind the facade, and she tried to grasp an image of what he could be like from what she knew of him so far.

He hadn't delivered the card by post, so he was a bit secretive. She knew that much already. He was quiet, studious almost. He was clearly intelligent. He'd even thrown quotes at her in her nightmares. When she first saw him looking out the window at The Wardrobe, she was struck by how different he looked from what she imagined. He wrote with a certain eloquence, making her think he was older than he really was. But who was she to say how old he was, really? She'd only met him briefly and he'd given little to no indication of his age or background. His looks implied he was European, possibly French, German, or Swedish, somewhere along the lines of a fair-haired man. His hands, as she'd previously noted, looked like he'd done a hard day's work a few times in his life. He had been almost completely frank with her, up until the very end. _Surprise, surprise._ Had he made a joke about her not knowing something, for once? She was, of course, known to be very intelligent. But he said it with almost a mocking, familiar tone.

She put water on the stove for drinks and leaned back against the opposite counter, recalling details. He was well-dressed, as always. Sharp. He looked as if he'd stepped right off the glossy pages of a men's fashion magazine. Everything was perfectly tailored to his very tall frame, broad shoulders, and slim waist. His shoes shone, his watch - expensive looking - had reflected light as if it had been polished or cleaned recently. He took care of himself and his things, a trait Hermione used to tout proudly. Nowadays she'd gone more than a day and a half without washing herself, and when she did she potioned her hair down into an unrecognizable straight wave. She didn't even like it that much. She remembered, just after sixth year, finally working out how to keep her curls in order, to keep her hair wavy without being puffy. It seemed like the sort of thing Ben had under control. He didn't have a hair out of place, and even the stubble on his chin seemed intentional.

She heard a door open and close in the hallway, feet dragging down the carpet towards the bathroom.

"Harry?"

"'Mione. Morning. Breakfast?"

"I've already got water on."

"You're wonderful."

"I try."

He disappeared into the bathroom, starting a shower, and shortly after steam seeped out through the crack under the door. The kettle whistled at the exact moment that Harry stepped out, towel-drying his hair in flannel pants with no shirt.

"Eggs? Toast?"

He thought for a moment, tossing the towel back across the hall into the bathroom hamper. "Both, probably."

"How can you possibly eat that much after the amount of Pad Thai you ate last night?"

He rubbed his stomach over with one hand, grinning. "Growing boy."

Hermione rolled her eyes, pulling bread and eggs from their respective places. She hesitated a moment. She'd been hiding away for the last few months, not going to dinners, not talking to anyone, and the like. But what if somebody knew more about Ben Holloway?

"Harry? I have to tell you something."

He looked at her with brows raised. She bit her lip, nervous about even mentioning it to him. He looked at her still.

"Well? You going to come out with it, or what?"

"I met the person who sent me the postcard. That's where I went yesterday."

His chest seemed to deflate. "Oh. And?"

"And he wanted to help me. He wanted to give me money. I didn't accept it, but I've never met the man in my life."

"What's his name?"

"Ben. Ben Holloway. I was wondering if you knew anything about him."

Harry turned, opening the cabinet door that blocked his face and reaching for tea. "I don't. Never heard the name."

"I was hoping you might. He said he's new, just came to work for the ministry on a contract in May."

"Well, that makes sense. The ministry brought in loads of people in the month or two after the war, had plenty of open positions to fill since so many had fled the country. And on top of that, there were a lot of people relocated too, so there are some with new identities. But then, that's only people that have really been checked out and needed it. It's a big sort of scramble. New people everywhere."

That, at least, was a little reassuring. He could be someone new after all, just a helpful stranger who had taken a keen interest in her.

"I suppose." The toaster finished, shooting up with a clanging noise. It had always made Hermione jump, and didn't fail this morning. She was immediately startled and heard a snigger behind her.

"Scared of a toaster?"

"You know it always makes me jump..."

"And yet you always make toast."

She shook her head, reaching high above it to mess the hair on Harry's. "You need a haircut."

He frowned, flicking his hair out from in front of his eyes. "I do not. My hair's just fine."

"You can't even see your eyes from here, Harry. You're going to run into something."

Glad to change the subject, Hermione insisted that they go into town that afternoon to get him a proper trim and to stock up on Hermione's personal favorite jam, the last of which Ginny had finished earlier in the week.

* * *

A few days after Hermione had finally succeeded in getting Harry's mop of hair trimmed at least out of his eyes, Ginny started staying over again. Her week of tough classes was over, and she was eager to spend time with her boyfriend. She'd marched into the apartment with her own key and sat on top of Hermione's things on the futon, with no apparent care that she could be squashing or wrinkling things.

"How's everything over here?"

Harry sat beside her, planting a quick peck on her cheek. "Good, all good. Went into town a few days ago, spent the afternoon doing things."

Ginny smiled. "I like the haircut. I can see your eyes better now."

"It was Hermione's idea. She said the same thing."

Ginny blinked, her smile fading quickly to something more like a grimace. "Oh. Well then. That's... fine."

"Yeah. We got some more jam too, and she helped me pick out a new coat for the season... you know how rubbish I am with colors." He inclined his head towards the coat hanging off the rack, tags still attached to the edge of the sleeve.

"It's just black."

"Yeah, well, I would have picked a blue one but she kept me from it. Doesn't really go with anything."

"Yes."

Hermione, who had been standing in the kitchen with her mug of tea, took this moment to walk around the corner.

"I'm just about to head out. Need anything? Anyone?"

She even kept her smile on while she looked at Ginny. She was getting stronger every day...

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

Harry glanced up at the ceiling. "You know, I could probably use some throat drops. You were coughing up a storm the other night, I don't want to catch anything you've got."

"I'll get some. You didn't like the cherry ones last time..."

"Right. The honey ones are fine. Thanks."

Hermione picked up her bag and coat and left, pausing once outside the door to straighten herself. Harry had asked around his small group of friends to see if anyone had heard of Ben Holloway, and had only reported back that a few of them had heard the name but may not have met him before. She'd been glad for a multi-day reprieve from Ginny, but all good things must come to an end. And she figured she might as well let them have some time alone. She hadn't had time to change, but it wasn't really necessary. Dressed in tight maroon pants and a loose brown sweater, she was warm enough. And besides, an empty tea shop awaited her.

The Wardrobe, however, was not empty. In fact, it was almost disturbingly occupied by one Ben Holloway, sipping at another dark drink - likely his coffee, again - and reading from a tattered old paperback. She had pegged him for a reader, but hadn't expected he'd show up again in her tea shop reading books she'd read before.

She tried her best to avoid him, hoping his being there was a coincidence. It wasn't, of course, and the neither was the coincidence of her purse strap breaking, causing a loud slap on the wooden floors. Ben looked up slowly.

"Miss Granger."

"Mister Holloway. Just out for a drink and a book."

"As am I."

"Fine."

"Fine."

She stepped up to the counter, ordering her 'usual'. Bernard took her order silently, but looked at her through wondering eyes, glancing past her twice at Ben. Even Bernard knew something as afoot.

She took her drink and settled in a chair in the farthest corner has she had days ago. He was in plain sight, and again did not look at her for quite some time. She picked up a book that she'd been tucking away on a back shelf, opened it to the right page, and lost herself in fiction for more time than she'd have previously thought possible.

Though she'd left Harry's around breakfast, the sky had begun to darken again. Darker clouds had begun to roll in from the North, and she knew she would again regret not having brought an umbrella. She looked to see if Ben was still there and he wasn't, but his book and mug and coat were still there. A moment later he stepped out of the restroom, and she locked eyes with him. He nodded, returning to his table only to gather his mug and coat and return the book before walking towards the back of the room and sitting across from her.

"I want to apologize for how I acted the other day. I was set on helping you in that fashion and you clearly didn't want it. It's not my place to be irked by it. It's your life."

"It is my life, actually, and it might be kind of you to stay out of it. I don't know who you are but I don't appreciate being _smirked_ at either. It's like you said. I'm a war hero. And I'm suffering, yes. I have loved and lost. And I'm having a hard enough time without some mysterious benefactor stalker following me into my one escape and making me feel almost as uncomfortable as if I'd stayed at Harry's apartment during Ginny's return."

He nodded, musing. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

She was stricken by this. He'd been so stubborn before. What had changed?

"You're not going to try to convince me of anything? To tell me I'm wrong? Shove another check at me?"

"No. You're right. And you should be. I should have assumed as much from you. Intelligent. Headstrong. You're very right. Usually have been. And I may be _just_ not-daft enough to know that you're right. I have seen your struggles, Hermione Granger, and I apologize for assuming the responsibility of helping you out of them. It wasn't my place. Maybe I did make a grave mistake in starting off that strong, but I really was just offering my assistance in any form possible."

She was silent. She had no other choice. She couldn't think of a thing to say. _Oh._ Maybe he wasn't _so_ bad after all.

"If you want to know a bit about me, that's fine too. I also apologize for apparently giving you such a bad first personal impression that you have to use the terms 'mysterious benefactor stalker' to describe me. I do not mean to be this mysterious, and I do not mean to stalk you. I'll admit I took a liking to this shop after I had seen you coming out of it and had wandered in for a cuppa that afternoon. I had intended on returning on my own, but after seeing you leaving it just before me twice afterwards, I took as much of an interest in you as I did the shop."

"My work keeps me from making many occupational acquaintances. I have very few people in my sub-department in the Department of Mysteries, and many people believe that our office does not exist at all. Even those once privy to the names of all departments, now think that it has gone the way of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It hasn't. I'm there every weekday and even on Saturdays, mostly because I have nothing else to do. I uprooted my entire life for this job, this opportunity." He looked over her head, as if remembering something important. "And it is still the best thing I've ever done. Don't get me wrong - there are people I knew, before being transferred here for work, that I miss. But my family is gone. I had no anchor there, no girlfriend or wife. Now I'm here, heart of London, with no friends and a job that keeps me working forty, fifty, sometimes sixty hours a week."

Hermione continued to look into her mug, the steam subsiding. She couldn't bring herself to stand and refill. At first she'd been livid, this man was following her, wasn't he? And clearly he was still lying about something. But everyone had their secrets - Hermione knew that all too well.

"I'm lonely, Hermione. I don't mean it to whine or complain or to do anything else other than to hope you'll accept my explanation. I have no friends. I have an apartment that nobody has ever set foot in except myself. My wards are completely private because I don't ever expect visitors. Who would visit me? Ben Holloway? I live a relatively anonymous existence, and sometimes that's okay. But when I found out that you were in the position you're in... I was struck by some need to help you. Do you get that?"

"I do." She nodded. "Yeah. There were times Harry felt like that about R-... Ron's family. He always wanted to help, they were always too stubborn, but seeing both sides, I can sort of get where you're coming from now."

Ben nodded. "Refill? I'll get it."

Hermione felt the corner of her lips quirk. He'd noticed. "Yes Please. Ch-"

"Chai Latte. I know. I can smell it from here. I went on holiday once, to India. Crowded country, dirty, but some parts are quite beautiful. There's a certain sort of... spiritual feeling, in places. Can't quite describe it." He grabbed their mugs, leaving Hermione to muse for a moment before he returned. She hadn't thought about him helping her in those terms until just moments ago. Harry had always had loads of gold left to him by his parents, and had nothing to do with it. He'd always wanted to help the Weasley's, who needed it more than most, but they were too proud to accept. Was she too proud? Did she think herself above the help of others? No. That wasn't quite it. She'd have to figure it out later. Ben sat again, sliding a piping hot mug of chai towards her. The spiced tea warmed her face above it, smelling absolutely heavenly.

"I know about the nightmares, too."

She blinked. "How do you- "

"Harry and Ginny. At the dinners. I've overheard them once or twice. Heard about your position. What Ginny says. How you've been sleeping on Harry's couch, trying to put up silencing charms before bed. But we're all human. Sometimes you forget, and you wake them both with blood-curdling screams in the middle of the night, or shouts of Ron's name, or Neville's, or any number of people. Harry is pretty understanding, moreso than I'd expect anyone could be really. Well, compared to Ginny, he's Saint Potter, isn't he? She's..."

"She's young. She's not even of age. And she acts like I _owe_ her this time with Harry. Like, because we were scavenging in the woods for food and not sleeping for days straight, and especially after Ron left... Harry and I barely talked, for the first two weeks. I just curled up and died. I loved Ron, and he'd just... left. And the things he'd said before he did. 'I get it. You choose him.' It wasn't like that, ever. But because I was with Harry being attacked at every turn and fearing for all of our lives, she acts like I owe her all this time with Harry where I don't even contact him, don't even see my best friend. She asked me, right after the war. I had enough money to possibly get a place of my own, but after spending a few nights in the Three Broomsticks, and the screaming, Harry got his flat and told me to take the living room. She told me that it was nice of him, but that they needed some time alone. To heal."

"What did she think you were doing? Lounging around playing cards and laughing it up?"

"I don't know. I never asked. I just told her I was sorry for intruding on their personal time and that I'd be out of their hair whenever she was around. But she seemed to take that like I wouldn't show my face to her for months. I still don't understand why." Hermione shook her head, tears welling. She was _not_ going to cry, not now. She'd had a hard enough time crying in front of Harry, she wasn't about to do it in front of a total stranger. But Ben looked at her, brow raised.

"Clearly, she's jealous."

Hermione's eyes seemed to clear immediately from the absurdity of the statement. "Jealous of what? She doesn't have to use mass amounts of potion on her hair, she's got Harry for a boyfriend, who lets her stay over as much as she wants and whenever she wants. He buys her things, takes her out, they went away for the weekend last month to Paris. Paris for the weekend. Just because. Meanwhile, I lay screaming on Harry's couch, broke and unwilling to accept financial help, and without even the mental capacity to see my own friends that I've known for close to eight years now."

"Not a personal jealousy, maybe, but all those months in the forest? In cities and towns? Saving the world? She'd always wanted to be the one right by Harry's side, but who did he bring along? The only person who has ever continuously stuck by him. The only person that I have never, ever, heard say a negative thing about him."

"I suppose. Clearly she doesn't want me there, though, and even through that... we were friends, once. When they boys were out playing quidditch and had odd numbers, we'd go inside and help Molly with dinner and talk. She'd write to me over summer hols, and Christmas if I ever wasn't with them. She was the closest thing I've ever had to a female friend, hell, to a friend that wasn't Ron, Harry, or Neville."

He shrugged, draining the last bit of plain black coffee in his mug. "It happens. I lost all of my friends, after all this. It's not easy. And you're lonely. But maybe someday you'll see someone leaving from a nice tea shop and you'll be drawn to them. Maybe that's why I'm doing this. Maybe I'm so alone that I just want to help someone else feel less alone."

"Money can't help me feel less alone. I can't buy friends."

"No, you can't. Money can attract followers, but not friends. Not really." He checked his watch. "I've got a meeting in a few. Someone from the ministry. I think we'll part ways here, then."

His eyes, again, were not quite the same color as the deep grey clouds out side. Something lighter, not as heavy. She nodded.

"I suppose so."

He started, as if he'd forgotten something, and he had - he reached into his jacket pocket.

"It's not another check. I'll promise you that. It's the number of a mediwitch, therapist, counselor type woman. I don't know if she can help you - she didn't really help me at all - but maybe it's worth a shot."

She took the card, looking at the same. _Mara Mayweather._ "Perhaps I'll give it a shot. Thanks."

He shook his head, a grimace plain on his lips. Without another word he stood and left the shop. Hermione watched him go, popping up his umbrella and stuffing his other hand in his jacket pocked, shoulders rounded, protecting himself from the storm. Maybe he was alright after all, this Ben. But now she'd never know. Lightning struck outside, very close to where she was, lighting up the sky. In the moment she took to look at it, lit up as if the sun were shining, Ben had turned a corner and was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione brushed against the card in her pocket for the third time that afternoon. She'd hesitated, of course, in calling the therapist. Ben had said she hadn't even helped him, so why was he referring her around to Hermione? And why should she even call? She'd thought about the nightmares, and how possibly a professional might have some serious answers for her. What if she had some sort of imbalance? What if she'd suffered a brain injury in the war, and something had been knocked off wrong, or... whatever it could be. She'd finally called the office, which she was surprised to find was a common office located within St. Mungo's, and made an appointment. Upon telling Harry he'd hugged her, rubbing her back.

"This is progress, Hermione. This is getting help. I'm so happy for you. Do you need someone to go with you? I could take the afternoon off, work's not really important right now anyway, I'll just be sitting around again..."

Hermione had to laugh to keep him from talking. "No, no. I'll be fine. I don't know if this is even going to work but I... a... Ben, the man from the postcard, referred her. Said she couldn't help him but maybe she could help me."

"You still have no idea who this guy is?"

"No, but so far he bought my tea and tried to give me a ton of money and offered me the name of the most-respected medi-witch therapist in the country, so I'm alright with his continued appearances."

"Just be careful. I don't want anyone taking advantage of you, or..."

"I can handle myself, Harry. He almost wants me to take advantage of his wealth, his knowledge, something, but I just don't know anything right now. What I do know is that I've made an appointment..."

And she'd left, setting off across town. She'd requested a time where less people would be around, and after giving her name, the receptionist had spoken to the therapist and both had agreed to move around an appointment or two so that she'd be the only one in or near the office at her scheduled time. It was a relief. What if she'd seen someone she knew? What if she'd had nightmares about them? It wasn't a fear of being seen - she knew for a fact that people would be happy she was trying to get help - but a fear of seeing. Luckily all had been solved, and right on time Hermione walked through the westernmost hall of St. Mungo's and slipped through the last door on the left.

The lobby here was much different than the rest of the hospital. Though it had the same sterile, eerie feeling as the rest of the place, it was decorated with mismatching comfy chairs, a low glass table with curving bent metal feet, and a tall glass desk in the corner, at which sat a younger witch in St. Mungo's robes with a feather tucked into her hair.

"Miss Granger. The doctor is ready for you." She flicked her wand at the double doors beside her, and they opened into a spacious office decorated not unlike the room she was already in, but in blues and purples. She stepped through the doors, breath held, hoping something would work.

* * *

It didn't. In fact, trying therapy had been a complete and total disaster. She almost regretted calling the woman in the first place, had it not been for one small section of the hour she'd spent within the office.

_They had finished what she called an 'initial workup', basically consisting of a ridiculously long list of questions that a four year old could have known about Hermione from her appointment call. No, she was not on drugs. No, she did not drink or smoke. Clearly, yes, she had been in the recent war. In fact, she'd been on the run with the famous Harry Potter, starving themselves for days sometimes to keep hidden, fishing out of streams, losing Ron, the rest. Yes, she had lost someone in the war. Multiple someones, a dozen she'd called friends and one in particular, her boyfriend. Or, sort of boyfriend. Yes, this was about nightmares. Yes, they were every night. Yes, she watched people she knew get dismembered or burned to a crisp._

_The therapist had not liked it when Hermione bleakly mentioned that she wouldn't be surprised at having a nightmare about the therapist herself, being torn to shreds by Voldemort himself or melting slowly in a room of fire, this room even. She had not liked that at all._

_"So... you're not staying on your own?"_

_"No. I'm with Harry right now."_

_"As in... with him? In a relationship?"_

_Hermione grimaced. "No. That title belongs to Ginny, Ginny Weasley."_

_"A sister of Ron's?"_

_"His only sister. The baby of the family."_

_"And how does she act towards you?"_

_"Like I don't exist. Or like I'm a horrible person for accepting help from my best friend for so long, when I feel bad enough about it already."_

_"What makes you feel bad about it? Harry, or Ginny?"_

_Hermione blinked a few times. She hadn't thought of it that way. "Ginny. All Ginny. Harry has never been anything but welcoming. In fact, I told him at first that I'd stay in my parents empty house. He told me I was being ridiculous and hired movers, paid for them and everything, to help clear the place out. I still own it, but my parents didn't take much with them in the move."_

_"So Ginny is the reason behind your discomfort there?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Then maybe you should try talking to her."_

_This was when Hermione knew things weren't going to go far. "Right. I'm supposed to reason with a sixteen-year old, who was one of my closest friends until she started pretending I don't exist. Ma'am, I'm only eighteen and can't pretend to have the maturity or wisdom of those older than myself, but I do know in fact that I'm about a decade ahead of Ginny Weasley."_

_"I see." She scribbled something on the notepad in front of her, looking disappointed._

_"And the nightmares... do they get better or worse?"_

_"Worse with time. Awful now."_

_"Well, the best advice for nightmares is to think happy thoughts before you sleep. Think of things you've got going for you in your life."_

_"I'm alive. I'm not horribly disfigured, and if I was nobody sees me so I wouldn't care._ _"_

_"Just... focus on the positives, Hermione." She forced a smile. "Think about other things."_

_"Are there any other stressers in your life?"_

_"What, besides surviving a war, my old friend hating me, losing the man I loved while he sacrificed himself to save me, losing his brother, another amazing friend, and losing my parents? No. Other than that and a mysterious benefactor, my life is fantastic."_

_There was more scribbling this time, rushed. Hermione had a feeling that as many years as this woman had been practicing, she'd never had a patient quite as awful as Hermione._

_"Mysterious benefactor? We haven't been over that."_

_"Ben. The man who gave me your card. Told me you couldn't help him, maybe you could help me."_

_"How else is he benefiting you?"_

_"He tried giving me fifteen thousand pounds. And he bought my chai latte."_

_"And you've never met this man previously?"_

_"Not at all. He's lying to me about something, I can't tell what. But he's never done anything wrong. Everyone's got secrets, ma'am. I'll leave him to his."_

_"And you don't think it's weird that he tried handing you enough money to live off of for a few months?"_

_"I think a lot of things are weird. Bad charms are weird, my nightmares, never ending, are weird. Harry's need to replace his toothbrush every three weeks is a little weird. As is his habit of walking around his flat mostly naked despite my living on his couch. A man trying to hand me a ton of money is about on par with the rest of them."_

_"But he's done nothing wrong? I only ask because I'm worried about your safety. I know a bit about Ben Holloway and just want to make sure you are making the right decision here."_

_"If it were of dire importance and you thought he was a real threat to me, you'd be required to call it into the ministry, right? Or some sort of authority? If that's the case, go, make the call. I'll be on my way."_

_The therapist had only shook her head. "No, no... all of this seems... fine. Different, but fine. Same time next week?"_

_"I think not."_

In fact, the biggest help to therapy had been knowing that it would not help her at all. She'd seen Harry go through a few months worth and love it, but personally it was about as useful to Hermione as a Firebolt. No, besides her small revelation about her discomfort at Harry's being solely Ginny's fault, the best advice she'd given Hermione hadn't been advice at all.

"Think about other things." Hermione repeated under her breath. She stopped immediately at the nurse's station to ask how to get employed. All jobs required eight months unpaid training after two years of expensive medi-witch training. And that was for basically answering phones. Damn.

She left the hospital, walked a bit across town, took a subway, and ended up in Diagon Alley. She asked about employment at three other places as well, and while most were glad to see her, any job that worked behind closed doors - a must, so Hermione could keep herself hidden - required degrees, extra schooling, the works. She didn't have time for that. Or money. Or energy.

Temporarily defeated, Hermione stalked out of Diagon Alley. Once off a returning train she walked East towards some muggle shops, hoping she might find something anonymous there. She picked up an application for a few, but upon reading through them, threw them away. She had forgotten what school name she was supposed to put instead of Hogwarts. The name itself was charmed, as soon as a muggle read it they seemed to have thought it had existed all along. It sounded like some sort of proper boarding school, something that should have been able to help her get a job.

It didn't. Things that were supposed to be helping, weren't. At this point, Hermione knew there was only one thing that could make her feel any better - chamomile tea and a book. While The Wardrobe often served it, they sold their custom blend in boxes as well, and she was due to restock her tea box at Harry's. A few blocks later, rain had started to spatter the sidewalk in front of her, but not where she was standing. She looked up to see a dark storm cloud over her head and looked back down at her feet, dry. To get to the Wardrobe - and symbolically to move forward, she supposed - she just had to keep moving forward. She raised her hood, raised her chin, and walked boldly into the rain. Something, somewhere, had to give.

Stepping into The Wardrobe, Hermione was immediately on alert for Ben. He was nowhere to be seen, but she couldn't count on that lasting long. It wasn't necessarily that she was avoiding him - just that, if she were to ever run into him again, she wasn't yet sure how she would react. If she'd leave, speak to him, even sit at the same table. She'd have to make her decision quick. She spotted him in the back corner she'd recently taken to hiding in, glancing up at her with a sly smile on his face. Ben. She left the counter and Bernard waiting, walking to the back. That knocked out the option of pretending she hadn't seen him or would ignore him. It also left out leaving entirely. She chose, somewhat subconsciously, to sit right across from him in a battered armchair with just one teetering wooden table between them, hardly big enough for a chess board.

"I'm out of tea." But what had sounded like a good explanation in Hermione's head had ended up sounding silly out loud.

"And that necessitates coming back into this corner immediately after seeing me here?"

"You're in my corner."

"Previous to our first meeting, this was not your corner. In fact, you used to sit up towards the front, books piled around you, ordering three or four chai lattes a day. Bernard is a friendly fellow and really wants to see you meet some new people..."

Hermione turned to the counter to look at Bernard, who was picking at his fingers and suddenly caught glancing towards the pair in the back. Startled, he nearly fell off his stool and instead resigned himself to turning towards the door.

"He's just friendly. Yes."

"Well, this isn't your corner after all."

"I don't intend on staying."

"Then why, exactly, did you sit at all?"

Hermione had no answer to this, and instead stood, walking towards the shelves near the counter to pick up a box of her favorite tea. "I'm not sitting!"

"You were, though."

She paid Bernard, who attempted to keep a straight face, and walked back towards Ben, who had been watching her.

"I can't even get a job away from all the people I knew before. I've tried muggle shops, St. Mungo's, everything. But nowhere will hire me. I've forgotten what school I'm supposed to really list, I don't have anything at all to wear to an interview if I did get one, and I know if I got anything in a wizarding area..."

"You'd see all the people you've been having nightmares about."

"Yes. Daily, probably. Or they'd be mentioned to me. And the like. Everyone knows who I am, Harry Potter's famous best friend, the one who lost so much in the war. And they'd all try and apologize and later that night they'd be burned up in my dreams. I'd go mad."

She stood again, going to Bernard and getting a cup of coffee, black, for Ben. When she returned, handing him the cup, he looked at her inquisitively.

"It's coffee. You drink yours black, no milk in sight and no wrappers of sugar packets either. It's an offering."

When he still stared at her, she groaned. "Just take it. Please. Do you want to help me, or not?"

"Course I do." He took the coffee. "But I thought you weren't accepting charity?"

"I'm not. I won't accept someone else's money or giveaways. But I do need an... an inside help. I need an opportunity."

"You're asking me to help you find a job?"

"Yes. Then I can earn my own keep, I can pay my own way through things. You work in the Department of Mysteries, most people my age don't, but most people my age aren't as intelligent or organized as I am, and frankly I don't doubt at all that I could work half the jobs down there."

"Your age?"

"Nineteen."

"Then we're the same."

"You're joking."

"Not at all. Well, half a year. In fact, you're half a year older than I am." He smirked. She thought he was older, more mature. The facial scruff was working, then.

"How? You look like you're at least in your twenties, mid-twenties by my first guess."

"It's the chin. I've got a good chin." He grasped it, as if making a point about it, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Yes, well. Our age then. How did you get a job there so soon?"

"It's complicated. You and I, in ways, are one in the same, and yet so very different."

"Fine. Can you help me?"

"I can. There are plenty of ministry people who might be able to work something out..."

"But I can't just take any ministry job. I can't sit at a desk on the main floor answering calls. I can't go organize portkeys or anything like that."

"I understand. Look, I can talk to my supervisor. See what he can do. He's got a bit of pull around our lower floors, and I'm sure for someone with your name and credentials, we can find you a nice job hiding in a corner doing something that will get you a paycheck. But I'll warn you now... being an Unspeakable isn't easy. You're only allowed one person to talk to, and the jobs are less than desirable. If you're looking for a mundane job with a paycheck, I suggest you run away, fast."

"Have I ever shied away from danger?"

Ben thought about it, about their years in school together. She'd hit him across the face once, in their third year, and he had found her definitely capable of hexing anyone who gave her lip about her blood status. Hermione had always been a little risky, moreso than even the press knew about the war. Even if he were Ben and not Draco, he knew she was fully capable.

"No. This is true. I'll call my super."

"Thank you, Ben. You wanted to help, this is basically the only thing I'll accept that might work."

"How was the therapist?"

"She told me to think happy thoughts."

"I told you she didn't work. Told me I was being rash, that there was so much to look forward to in my new... after the war, I mean. My new circumstances. What do they pay her for?"

"Some people find therapy comforting. They like talking about their problems."

"It's revolting. I didn't even stay the full hour. I was out in about twenty minutes. She starts on me about my job, which I was struggling with at the time due to moral differences. When that cleared up, I was still late all the time, and my boss had referred me, so she knew more than I thought. Called me anti-social. Told me I should confide in someone about my work. I'm an _unspeakable._ And I have nobody to share things with anyway."

Hermione had watched his face turn from one of bitter humor to bitter sadness, and it struck her. She hadn't seen Ben display anything but a sort of sly omniscience since their first meeting, and a new side of him was actually sort of nice.

"I don't either. You think it's easy telling my best friend I saw him and his girlfriend brought down by Death Eaters, and then had their bodies set aflame?"

"Certainly not. Like I said, Hermione Granger, you and I are at times one in the same."

He stood, finishing the rest of his coffee - how he'd finished the cup full of scalding liquid so fast was a mystery to her - and smiled. "We'll be in touch."

"How? Another postcard?"

"No. I've recently been dabbling around with mobile phones. The world we live in-" He said this with raised brows, so that Bernard or anyone else listening might just think they were talking about general society instead of a world of millions of undercover witches and wizards "-may not use these as widely as they should. Really handy." He pulled one from his pocket, a flip-style phone she'd seen recently in a shop window. The phones were expensive.

"I don't have the funds for that sort of thing."

"No, but I do, and in order to contact you about a job opening, I'll need to ring you. I've had one delivered to Potter's. Should be there by the end of tomorrow and is connected to my account. I'll let you know when I know more."

He flicked his hand in a sort of casual salute and walked out, leaving Hermione with a mixed sense of apprehension and excitement. A job. A real job, in the department of mysteries. And a mobile phone, they were expensive but would be really convenient. He'd call her. Pull some strings. At this point, any negative questions she'd had about Ben were pushed to the back of her mind. A non-Unspeakable wouldn't have known who to ask, but Hermione knew one personally and he'd once mentioned working in a high-security level. He'd be able to do something, she was sure of it. Once he did, she could get nice work things with a first paycheck or advance, could save up enough to get her own flat and not sleep on Harry's couch anymore, could leave him in peace with Ginny and make the snide comments and rude treatment stop. Hermione finished her chai and left The Wardrobe with an extra spring in her step, much to the delight of Bernard, who had been watching them the entire time.

* * *

"Martin?"

Draco rapped on the door lightly, not wanting to disturb his boss. The man did work even more complicated than his own, even though much of it was paperwork and project reports.

"Holloway? That you?"

"Yeah. Can I come in?"

"Certainly, yes of course. Door's open."

Ben pushed the door open, fully playing the part of his new identity. Ben Holloway wasn't the loud or boastful type. He was quiet, somewhat reserved, and polite. Draco was finding it easier to do this than he'd expected.

"I've got a favor to ask of you."

"Oh?"

"You see, there's this woman. I've met her once or twice..."

"Woman advice? Ben..." He winked, jokingly. Ben smiled.

"Not entirely. That's later. What do you know about the sector on thoughts? Don't they do things having to do with dreams, nightmares, that sort of thing?"

"Are you authorized to be asking me this question?"

"I got level four last week."

"Perfect. Floor U7, two above us, is generally referred to as the Thought Sector. Within in are many subdivisions, like ours, and one of them is the Dream Division. They study patterns, intensities, material, and the like. They also do studies on nightmares, and their unique intensities and effects. The entire Thought Sector is comprised of nearly a hundred employees, over ninety of which work in the labs themselves, and the Dream Division takes up roughly a tenth of that. There are nine of them so far, three of which study nightmares, and between the two areas, there are two different Supervisiors. Anything else?"

"Yeah. How do they study the dreams and nightmares?"

"Subjects. For a while, many subjects were also employees of the ministry who had complained of odd visions, dreams, and nightmares. They see their greatest traffic and report numbers in times of trouble, but have seen a drastic decline since the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. There haven't been many complaints at all, most people are happy to just be alive."

"I see. And how might someone come about getting a job down there?"

"Are you asking for yourself or for someone else?"

"Someone else."

"I'm really not supposed to say... even that is beyond your level. Hiring practices require employee names, which would require identifying Unspeakables by location. Even I don't know that much. We mostly communicate, when required, by anonymous inter-office memos."

"Is there any way to contact them? I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."

Mr Martin sighed, looking resigned. "You've been my top associate since you got here three months ago, Ben. I couldn't say no to you if I tried. But who is this about?"

"A woman, like I mentioned. Fought hard in the war, was at Hogwarts personally. I knew her... when we were children. Friends of family, and the like. She's lost a lot since then."

"What's her name?"

"Hermione Granger."

Ben watched his boss nearly choke, his eyes wide with surprise. "You know Hermione Granger?"

"Decently well. I haven't spoken with her in quite a long time. I'd even say I don't think she'll recognize me anymore. But I overheard Harry Potter talking about her at the ministry dinner a week or so ago. She's sleeping on his couch, has trouble getting a job. And worse than that... she's having nightmares. Awful ones, she sees people dying and worse. Every night. I wouldn't bring it up, except she could really use a job where she wouldn't run into people she dreamed about, and now it seems she fits the bill perfectly."

Martin straightened his bowtie, coughing. "Yes, yes she does. I'll send a memo over once lunch is finished. I'll let you know by end of day what the response is. Would you have a way of contacting her?"

"Yes, I know a friend of a friend. I'll do it myself."

"Excellent. You understand we'll have to wipe your memory of all this if it isn't you who she chooses to converse about her job with?"

"I know."

"It's a favor you won't remember."

"Then I'll owe her another one."

Martin smiled. "You're a good man, Ben Holloway."

Draco smiled, but his stomach dropped. He had not been a good man, and this was practically the only way he could right at least one wrong deed he'd done. "Thanks. Really, thank you."

He left the office with an extra spring in his step. He didn't care if he didn't remember it. He'd find a way to get around it just by reminding himself that one small bit of his debt towards her had been repaid. He knew, the second he mentioned her name, that if a memo went out like that, he'd have it granted almost immediately. She was a war hero, the wizarding world's sweetheart who lost it all in the war. The girl who had risen above all odds... who would hit a man in the face if he was being a foul, loathsome creature.

* * *

Hermione woke for the second time that morning. Her first had been after a nightmare, one that had shaken her pretty thoroughly, but she'd gone back to sleep and gotten a few hours of peaceful rest before she was woken again by Harry shouting an obscenity.

"You okay in there?"

"I tripped."

Hermione laughed, straightening her off-center shirt and adjusting her shorts. She walked down the hallway into Harry's doorway, and had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing harder. Harry had tripped, alright. He'd gone face first into his dresser, and a lump the size of a golf ball was already rising from the side of his forehead, opposite his scar.

"Now you'll have a second mark up there."

"Oh, shut up and help me, will you?"

A trickle of blood had begun running down his nose, and Hermione's laughter was quickly shut off. She remembered nightmares like this, but couldn't let them get to her now. She lead him to the dining table and brought him an ice pack, using a damp cloth to pat at the wound.

"You must have gotten it right on the corner. Nice job, Harry."

"Yeah, well. It was dark."

"You couldn't turn on the lights while you were getting ready for work?"

"I was trying to prolong a feeling of restedness, I don't know, Ginny told me about it. Bad advice. Again."

"Again?"

"Yeah, she told me something the other day that... angered me. Unreasonable. But it's not important. What about my forehead? Is it bad?"

"Honestly, yes. You might want to go to St. Mungo's, get it checked out. I'll take you."

"I've got work in half an hour."

"I think they'll understand."

She leaned closer, her face just inches from his. "There. All clean. Keep ice on it and get some pants on." She nodded towards his legs, which were bare except for a pair of stretchy grey boxer briefs. "The paparazzi would have a field day with that, as would the receptionists."

Harry grinned sheepishly, returning to his bedroom to dress. Hermione did the same, changing around the side of the couch as she usually did, slipping on jeans and a sweater with her boots and coat. Harry came out a minute later, after what Hermione humorously thought was definitely a struggle to keep the ice pack on his head while also putting a shirt on. She jingled the keys to his car, offered to drive, and he declined.

"Can't we apparate?"

"In your condition? You'll splinch yourself."

"Floo?"

"Same. You could get lost. I don't trust it."

"But you've barely ever driven."

"I've driven your car twice."

"And you almost hit a pedestrian."

"Fine. You drive. I'll keep the ice pack on your head." She ruffled his hair, taking care not to get too near the growing lump on his forehead, and smiled. Leaving the flat, however, she heard a curious buzzing noise from their mailbox. Harry retrieved the key and Hermione realized what it was as she pulled it out. The phone.

"Someone sent you a phone?"

"Yeah, promotional sort of thing. I get it and a few months use and they'll ask me about it later, sort of... bringing technology into the wizarding world."

"Cool. Where's the car?"

Thankful that Harry didn't ask any more questions, Hermione slipped the box open and pulled the phone out of it.

There was a message waiting. He must have sent it just as they were walking out the door.

_You start Monday. You've got a weekend to get to the ministry and do paperwork. They've got just the job for you._

She heaved a sigh of relief. He'd gotten her a job.

_Thank you so much, Ben. I'll never ask another favor again._

She walked downstairs with Harry, helping him avoid poles and walls and anything else he might run into. Once in the car and seated on the passenger side again, her phone buzzed once more.

_You won't have to. If you ever need anything, I'll be helping you._

* * *

Mere blocks away in his own flat, Ben shook his head. This wasn't like him. Well, it was like Ben. But not like Draco - not like the man he'd been for eighteen years previous. He had changed, but had he really changed enough to be able to do this? He resigned himself to accepting that yes, he had just said that, and yes, he was going to keep that promise. If the memory of getting her a job was wiped from his mind, he'd need to make it up to her again anyway.

The problem then, lay in the truth that he couldn't keep his identity a secret from her forever. She didn't deserve that, either. And if he kept helping her out of nowhere, she'd get even more suspicious. He'd have to tell her who he really was, eventually. But that time could come later. Certainly not today. He'd done enough, for now.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione had woken early to go into town, choosing Saturday as the day she'd finally get up off Harry's couch and start doing things with her life. As soon as Harry had his head mended and the swelling went down, she told him about her new job. He seemed excited for her, and though she'd been searching for relief in his face - relief that she'd finally be off his couch, that he'd finally have alone time with Ginny, that he'd have his own flat back - she saw none of that. He seemed happy for her, if just a bit woozy from the pain medicine, and she asked him if he'd go into town with her the next day to find something to wear for her first day and paperwork. They could do lunch, she had to pick up a few things... he'd agreed immediately. Ginny was with her mother for the weekend anyway, wouldn't be stopping by supposedly until Monday night.

They'd gone into town together, first purchasing for her a slim black pencil skirt that hit just at mid-thigh, along with a white gauzy top and white shoes. Harry bought her a simple but classic single pearl necklace as a congratulatory gift, and she had put it on right in the shop. After a stop into their favorite semi-expensive restaurant for lunch and a drink or two each, Hermione lead them across town to a boutique where she spent most of the rest of her money on a simple set of cosmetics, brushes, and a small bag. She'd never owned much before, just a lip gloss and mascara that she only wore on special occasions, but she knew how it all worked anyway. Next door was a shop for hair things, and she stopped in for a barrette and a new hairbrush. Her old one had been lost in Harry's flat some time in the last few weeks, and she'd need a stronger one this time anyway. And more hair potion. Harry, noticing Hermione counting out her last galleons and sickles, bought the lot for her and wouldn't accept money from her.

"I've got the money to spend. Don't be like Ron."

Hermione gaped slightly, dropping her bags from earlier. Harry muttered an obscenity and started stammering.

"I-I'm sorry, so so s-sorry... I shouldn't have said th... I shouldn't have said that at all. It's not easy on me either, you know."

Hermione smiled meekly, but Harry could see in her eyes that it had hurt her as much as it had hurt him to make a joke about their recently-passed best friend.

"I know. It's... it's fine. Let's just... I'll apparate home with these and meet you at that pub on the corner, alright?"

"Sounds perfect."

Hermione walked into the alley behind the shops, checked any clear windows, and turned on the spot, holding tight to her purchases. At first landing, she checked to make sure everything had come through alright. It had. She was genuinely surprised she hadn't splinched herself, since she hadn't done much apparating in the last two months. She set her things down, took out her makeup bag, and toyed with the things inside. Harry still hated apparating, it still made him sick. It would take him about twenty minutes to get to the pub down the street, so she pulled out the new mascara, lipgloss, shimmery shadows, cream blush, eyeliner, and light lipstick, setting them in a row on the mirror shelf in Harry's bathroom. She applied them all carefully, with a light hand. She'd watched her mother do these things so often as a child, she didn't know why she hadn't remembered it before. Her mother, showing her how to do things older girls did, even applying lipgloss and a little rouge on Hermione for play before going out for lunch together.

Hermione shook the memory from her head, instead cleaning up her makeup. She'd done a decently good job, for never having done it before. Everything was even, light, and enhanced her features. She hadn't felt this good about herself in a long time. New job, an effort to make herself look better, the lot of it. She pulled the paddle brush and hair potion - which the witch behind the counter had kept in the back room, away from muggle eyes - and began carefully, painfully pulling through her hair. There was a lot of it. And it hadn't been brushed in a week and a half. When she lost her brush, she reminded herself that women sometimes did this to give themselves more volume, but why had she tried to convince herself she needed any of that? With five minutes left to go, Hermione pulled through the last tangle, letting her hair fall past her shoulder blades - noticing she needed it cut, badly - in nearly straight sheets. Satisfied, she put her coat back on and walked the block and a half down to Kings Arms, a quaint but noisy little pub filled with young and old alike. Outfitted in red, black, navy, and dark woods, it reminded Hermione and Harry both of the ornate insides of Hogwarts in a way that was only ever positive.

Harry was already seated at a booth on the side near the window, shaking snow out of his wild hair. He waved her over, flagged down a waitress, and ordered both of their favorites. The fact that their friendship was at the point that he even knew exactly what she wanted and how, was comforting. Harry was her rock. Her best mate, and...

"Wow."

"Hmm?"

"Spent a little time getting ready, did you?"

"Does it look awful? Did I do too much? Oh, I'm terrible at these things..."

"No, no. It's... nice. Really nice. Nice to see you putting in effort and feeling alright about yourself."

She smiled, glancing towards the bar. "Yeah. It is. I actually told you to meet me here to celebrate the job, and to talk to you about it a bit."

She'd gotten a few texts from Ben about the job he'd gotten her and hadn't yet shared them with Harry. _Dream Division. Thought Sector. Some days as the subject, some as the researcher. It all depends on your comfort. Unspeakable. Secret. We'll Floo in together so you can avoid people through public entrances. Paperwork. Dress nice for day one. We'll talk more when we need to. There's something I need to tell you._

He'd reiterated a few of these points throughout the few days that she'd had the phone, even calling once to make sure she'd been getting them all. He kept saying _we'll talk_ like he had more information for her, but he wouldn't reveal anything he hadn't already told her.

"Yeah. You've been texting the bloke that got it for you?"

"Ben. Right. The one who sent the postcard. At first, I'll be honest, I was skeptical. I spent half an hour at the shop just checking him out, making sure he wasn't a nutter and didn't check himself to make sure he still had weapons or a wand still on him. He didn't. So I went to talk to him... well, you know that part. I wouldn't take money. But I tried getting a job after that and wizarding jobs are too public, and muggle jobs I just... I can't. Couldn't remember the name of the school, couldn't remember my own name and birthdate sometimes."

"So, what, he just showed up?"

"No. I asked him."

The waitress returned with their drinks, and while Hermione was distracted with taking them from her and tipping her graciously, Harry gaped.

"You asked someone for help? After I've been offering all this time?"

"Yes, Harry, but you must understand. He's got connections. He's an Unspeakable. And that's exactly the sort of job I need right now."

"They can have really stressful jobs, Hermione."

"But they're out of public eye, provide a sizable regular paycheck, and may help me in the long run."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I can't say just yet, can I?"

"'Spose not."

Harry had tasted real ales only once, at this very pub, and found the warm temperature a disservice to the slightly fizzy drink. Since then he'd stuck with ciders or traditional liquor, but Hermione had always preferred something less sweet than ciders. She ordered something similar to a Christmas punch, minus the ungodly amounts of sugar, and sipped the steaming liquid with a look of calm in her eyes.

"You're sure about this?"

"Positive. And I have to be. I go in to do paperwork tomorrow morning, and the next day I start."

"Well that was quick."

"Yeah. And good thing, too. This is my last bit of money. Just coins left, at this point. A galleon or two."

"Will you be alright for lunch?"

"I'll manage. There are carts everywhere."

"That's ridiculous. Get yourself a real lunch." Harry slid his wallet from his pocket and pulled out a note, handing it to her. She took a glance and pocketed it. Refusing this bit of help from Harry would hurt him, after she'd already gotten such help from Ben.

"Thanks. I didn't want to ask."

"No problem. Maybe I'll meet you one day, too. You'll be quite a few floors beneath me but I can separate from my usual lunch group sometimes." He smiled, patting the table. Snow was lightly dusting the walk outside, mixing with the wetness from a bit of rain earlier. The mushy mess was Hermione's least favorite thing to walk in, she always managed to trip on something.

"Good. I'd like that."

"Good." The pair sat in near silence for the next half hour, observing fellow patrons, until darkness fully fell and a few small groups spilled in and sat at every booth and table around them. They sat a few more moments in silence before Harry cleared his throat.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"Besides... the nightmares and stuff. And besides the job. How are you?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"We rarely get to just talk nowadays. You're out or Ginny's over or both, and we haven't sat down to eat or talk in weeks."

"Oh. Yes, well, I've been busy and things, just... getting out. Distracting myself. Saw a therapist. Stopped seeing a therapist."

"I see."

Hermione ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. "I think about him a lot. It's hard, because I know I'll never see him again and I should be moving on. But just these last, what, four months without him? No laughs, no chewing with his mouth open, none of him defending me from his brothers, from harm, from, from..."

"I know. I keep expecting to get an owl from him, like you two used to do. 'Hey Harry. Mum says...' or 'Hey Harry, Hermione says...' and a bunch of rambling. He could never, ever keep on subject."

"Never. That was what, I think, helped us sometimes. Even when things got dark... he'd have something else on his mind, like Arthur's battery collection, or Luna's nagging near the wedding. He gave me something, a few days before the final battle."

Hermione's hand opened and closed, as if willing to feel it in her palm right then. "His prefect badge. He said when he'd got it, his mother had never been more proud of him. But that coming back, finding me again... made him proud of himself."

Harry's eyes were wet, as hers always were when thinking about Ron. He had been a git at times, and sometimes the most frustrating human being on the planet. She hadn't wanted to see him ever again after he'd left them in the woods. She wished she could take it all back... the anger, the resentment. When he did come back, telling her the things he did, she'd nearly melted. But on the surface, she'd played aloof. Why? Why hadn't she accepted him back when it was clear to them both that they loved each other, always had?

There was always room for Why, but never for When. Why had he died? When would they have gotten married? Why had he sacrificed himself like that? When might they have been able to save up for their own place? Why had he given her his prefect badge? Had he known he might do this? Why had he planned it out, known just what to say? And why, dear god why couldn't she just hear him say it, or say anything, today?

The conversation ended without a response from Harry, and as they finished their drinks among cheerful Uni students and local residents alike, Harry paid the small tab and stood, helping Hermione up and with her coat. Always a gentleman. As they left the pub and tread carefully on the slushy ground, Harry slipped his hand into hers, squeezing it just once.

"Remember that time I changed the colors on all of his posters? Or the time you Confunded McLaggen so Ron would make the team?"

"I did, didn't I? How... illegal."

"Yeah, but I had seen you do it from up top. And I let you. It was my fault too."

"Remember in, oh, fifth year? Must have been, I had that O.W.L. study schedule printed up. And Ron asked where there was room for not-studying, and looked at me like a lunatic when I told him there was none. That it was the most important test of our lives, or something. Little did we know..."

"Yeah. Or that time he nearly pissed himself when Snape snuck up behind him, in third year? Scared his pants off. Said something about his potion being too dark, and Ron blanched... even you laughed at that one."

"One of the few times Snape took points from me for actually acting out of line, yeah."

"Do you remember the day he came back for us?"

_I heard you._

"Like it was yesterday. The look on his face, the truth coming out. That he'd heard my voice, and I'd said... I'd said his name."

"Yeah. You kept a steely look on but you were red, and not from the cold..."

"Oh, shut up." Hermione smirked. "Yeah, I was."

"That's what we've got to remember. That's what I always remember. That he left, but that he came back. That something lead him back to us - to you - because that's what he really wanted."

Hermione nodded, the laughter fading from her mouth, but the smile remained. "Yeah. It's not been easy, realizing that the only man I've ever really loved is gone forever, but... I think of what he did for me. And that's what's hardest."

"He wouldn't have done it if it wasn't you. He loved you, I'd seen it, I was hoping you had before that too."

"I could still feel his kiss on my lips when it happened."

"Fresh."

"Too fresh."

Harry squeezed her hand again. "But you know what... he'd be proud of you now."

"For living on your couch and being pathetic?"

"No. For doing something about it. You always knew how to fix things. And I mean... it's Ron. I think he believed in you more than any other person on earth, and that's between him and a whole population of people who know you literally know it all."

She smiled. "Thanks, Harry. It's hard talking about the sad stuff, but... It's good to remember him. I miss him terribly."

"But there's no use in dwelling. There really isn't. I've thought about Fred, Tonks, Lupin, so many others... Moody, Dumbledore... but the time is past for that. We're getting better now, right?"

"Right."

"And onto the future, whatever that is. Right?"

"Double right."

They reached the front door together, and Harry offered to make tea before bed and put on a film. Hermione spent the next few minutes clearing off the futon and setting her alarm for seven the next morning, early enough to wake up and get to the ministry to sign the paperwork and the oath for her new job. Harry was right. She missed Ron dearly, and everyone else they had lost. But it was time to get better.

* * *

Sunday had come and gone, along with a mountain of paperwork and one very intimidating blood oath to begin her new job.

The paperwork had been tedious but easy. Name. Birthdate. It all came easy to her now. It was already settled, this job, and that was that. She could easily and proudly list Hogwarts on this set of paperwork. And her OWL results. And her place in the war as reason she had no NEWT results. Here, that stuff mattered.

After the paperwork was completed, she was brought into a small wizengamot court room and signed a blood oath promising herself and her secrecy to life as an Unspeakable, terminable at any time by herself, but under the condition that she only tell one person very minor, undetailed things having to deal with life as an Unspeakable. Once that was completed and signed off on by a witness, two members of the Thought Sector - one of which was her future supervisor in the Dream Division, a kindly looking middle-aged wizard with dark hair with dashes of grey throughout and thick glasses.

She had completed another blood oath stating her direct job responsibilities within the Dream Sector. At least two days per week she would complete research projects related to her own condition or others, and at least one day per week she would allow herself to be put under by potion for research and mild experimentation purposes. She would wear the deep sapphire blue robes of the Unspeakables on her floor, which were issued to her and unsurprisingly perfectly her size and fit. She could wear whatever she wished under the robes and was encouraged to bring soft pants for her days as a subject. She could choose the days, other researchers were flexible and willing to work on her case when she was willing to, of course, be put under by potion and measured and lightly experimented on.

At first, the job description had terrified her. _Subject? Experimentation? Research? Nightmares? Sleep Aura? Numberous Potions of different kinds?_

In the end, she remembered that this was not just the only job she'd been offered, but that it was the one that could potentially rid her of the terrifying nightmares, too. She pricked her finger when directed, touched the foutain pen to the drops of blood, and signed her name in her own blood.

It was the most exciting thing she'd done in four months. And she was ready.

After leaving the ministry she received a text message. It had to have been from Ben, he was the only one besides Harry with her number. She flipped the phone open and wasn't surprised to see that he'd already heard she'd done her paperwork. A voice message icon blinked in the upper corner.

_Got the note you're done with paperwork, good. We'll meet at The Wardrobe tomorrow morning at seven and I'll show you to my home, where we'll be taking a private Floo into work each day, if you accept. I'll have to let you in through my wards, and it's at that point that we'll need to talk more. Looking forward to it._

She flipped the phone closed again and retreated back to Harry's flat, eager to tell him as much as she could about the blood oaths and the Wizengamot witnesses. He seemed excited for her, again, but also a little off. She cast it aside. Ginny had been gone all weekend, he probably just missed her.

* * *

Hermione took care in the morning getting ready. She showered, brushed out her hair, used a smaller amount of potion than usual, and dressed. She lightly applied her makeup, twisted her hair up into a delicately twisted bun on her head, and slipped into her work shoes - flat shoes, of course, but still classy looking. She grabbed her purse, wallet, phone, and the note Harry had given her two nights ago, placing that in her wallet.

It took her a few minutes to walk down to The Wardrobe, and she was alright with that. It gave her time to reflect.

What if he really was some crazy person, and the moment she walked into his flat, he killed her? What if his entire story was made up, and he'd researched her, some stranger with a vendetta, or worse - family of an old Death Eater? It was a bit too late to turn back. She had already accepted the job and she doubted she could force herself to turn back now, or to change direction and use the public entrance, risking seeing Arthur or Dean or Seamus or Parvati...

She turned the corner and stepped through the doors of the little shop, where Ben was already waiting.

"I got your chai... ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"We'll take a cab to my flat. It's a bit too far for walking and hot coffee and apparating are not conducive to keeping either of our shirts clean." He smiled. "I've already called for one. Should just be a moment."

As if on cue, a black taxi slid around the corner and slowed to a stop in front of the doors. "After you."

She nodded, stepping out into the cold, damp morning. October fifth. She wouldn't have even remembered the month had changed if she hadn't had to write it down a handful of times on her paperwork the day before. Sliding into the cab, she made room for him, as much as she could. He sat down, gave the driver his intersection, and shut the door. The ride was mostly silent. Hermione took a glance at Ben and saw his mouth drawn, thinking. He was staring out into the sky and she could have sworn his eyes were just reflecting the stormy grey of the sky outside. He seemed close to starting a conversation at a few points, but held his tongue until they pulled up in front of a wide, whitewashed brick vintage building. The area was well-known for being expensive, and Hermione wasn't surprised that they'd ended up somewhere like here. He paid the cabbie, walked her up the front steps to number twenty-six, and stopped.

"I'll have to let you into my wards."

"If you don't want to, I'm sure we could set it up in a shop somewhere..."

"Would you be willing?"

Hermione thought about it for a moment. "I suppose. But I just..."

"Don't want to run into anyone you've known. That's why we're here, but it's not going to work exactly like you thought. I'll step over the doorway at the same time you do. I've cleared the front hallway to be acceptable, but only for today. I'll have to do the charm with you present."

She nodded, waited for him to turn the key, and stepped in with him. Once the door was closed, she took a look down the short entry hallway. The ceilings were high, and the flat was immaculate. It was clean, crisp, done up in white and greys with little bits of color here and there. It wasn't unlike how she might decorate her own place, one day. She could see through part of a doorway into a spacious, remodeled kitchen with stone countertops and gleaming appliances. There were wood floors everywhere, with little fuzzy carpets placed strategically in front of doorways, the stove and sink, in front of a wide grey suede couch, and under her feet. The perfect balance between modern and cozy. Hmm.

"Hermione, I... I have to warn you. I haven't been perfectly honest with you, and I know that what I'm about to do and say may not be what you expected or acceptable in any fashion. So I'm giving you the option now, and a reason. If you don't like what you hear, you're free to leave, but I'll leave my wards down to you if you change your mind. If you stay, remember that you've got a job now, that I can help you with things like that, and that you deserve the help more than I deserve the ability to do so. Are you following me?"

"You think something's going to happen to make me not want to be around you."

"Yes."

"Try me. You could be Voldemort incarnate and I'd let you run me down on the spot."

"You're joking."

"Ben, I have little left to live for. Yes, I've got a job now, but I've lost literally all of my friends and family to war, nightmares, or death itself. Or, in Harry's case, to his girlfriend who isn't happy with me. I have forty-three pounds to my name, I still sleep on a futon, and I can't sleep even on said futon because I have gory, disgusting nightmares about everyone I once loved dying and blaming it on me. Oh, and I lost my cat on top of it and everything I've ever owned, watched the only man I may have ever loved sacrifice himself to save me, and I am now absolutely terrified of the scent of breakfast sausage."

Ben blinked a few times, startled. "Wow."

"Yeah. Like I said - Voldemort incarnate. Try me."

"If you insist."

He slid his wand out from a drawer he'd placed it in that morning, tracing a finger down the length of it. Turning away from her, he let out a shaky breath.

"Do you really want to know why I've been doing this? Not only because I understand your avoidance of most people. Clearly, since you're the only other person who I've ever let in through these wards that hasn't been the little man from the ministry. We'll work the same shifts, the same start and end times, I made sure of that so that we can floo in and you can keep out of the public eye. But do you really, honestly want to know why I've wanted to help you? You're not the only one who has lost, you know. Families and people who went to Hogwarts have lost everything - their entire family, their home, their friends. Just like you. But I knew from the beginning of this that it was you that I had to help. It was you who I had to recompense.

"Do you want to know how I know so much? About the students and their parents who have tortured you, literally, and who made your life a living hell? How I know about the tormentors, why they attacked you, singled you out like they did?"

He finally turned to her, eyes blazing. "Because I was one of them once. I was your tormentor, worse than any. I'm someone you've hated more than anyone else on the planet at times. I tortured you, called you names, cursed your teeth, your name, your very blood and soul. And once, just once, as a child - for a fleeting moment, you did something that made me feel remorse. I wasn't used to feeling responsible for my actions. I came at you worse and worse, spitting insults and poison.

"I picked on you for no other reason than that I wanted to. Because I had heard the Death Eater parents spit your name out after our first year and I, for some god awful reason, wanted to be just like them one day. I thought I was purer than you, more deserving, better in general. But almost a decade and the loss of so many and a change of heart, name, and face has only shown me I can't dream of being half the person you are, Hermione. I'm nowhere near."

Her face was unchanged, except for somehow being harder, more guarded. _No._

"On this fifth day of October, nineteen-ninety-eight, I Draco Malfoy hereby grant admission into this place to one Hermione Granger, a colleague and hopefully, one day, a friend."

It was then that something happened, something odd and wonderful. It didn't work. Not at all. Ben frowned.

"This is how it's supposed to be done. I say it just like that. I..."

"You've gone through relocation."

"Yes."

"And they changed your name, your face, your history?"

"Yes."

"That's why you couldn't get your facts straight. Where the money came from. Where I've seen your eyes before."

"All of the above."

"Have you signed the contracts?"

"What do you mean?"

"The relocation papers, Ben! Those papers."

"You're still going to call me Ben?" He raised a brow.

"If you signed the papers, that's your name, isn't it?"

He was stunned again by the way she was, always had been, able to spot things that were so difficult to most people, but plain to her. "Right. I... On this fifth day of October, nineteen-ninety-eight, I, Ben Holloway, hereby grant admission into this place to one Hermione Granger."

A sort of fizzy look filled the air around them and vanished as quickly as it came. "Huh." He slid his wand into his pocket. "I didn't even..."

"Do you want to know why I'm not screaming? Why I'm not tearing your head off right now, or better, hitting you just as I did in third year?"

"Why?"

"Remorse. Voldemort had never been capable of it because he was evil. Pure, complete evil. And for a while, that's the only purity I had cared about with you. It's still the only purity I care about. But admitting remorse, and even more - that night at the Manor. Do you remember?"

"They wanted me to identify you. To tell them it was the three of you, call you out."

"And what did you do?"

"I didn't."

Hermione nodded, taking her first step over the ward line. That was what sealed it, she was now allowed entry at any time, day or night, no matter the inside contents or locked doors of the flat. She had crossed a line. But maybe this line wasn't so clear, the line between the spoiled boy she'd known in school and the Draco from seventh year, or between those two and the man - Ben Holloway - that stood in front of her now. In some way, she had suspected he had to be someone from her past. He had known too much. But she'd never thought it would be him. Now that she knew, there was a sort of... calm, almost. She knew that Ben Holloway had once been Draco Malfoy. He'd had his face, name, and entire history changed. He was no longer a Malfoy but a Holloway, a man who could belong to any family at all. He was a man that showed the stress of someone who had dealt with something far beyond his years.

She wasn't happy, and she wasn't necessarily okay with the situation or the reveal. But she _had_ meant what she said, and that was enough for now.

"We'll talk later. In the mean time, we've got," She checked her watch, "Seven minutes until we're due downstairs."

She thought she saw the corners of his lips twitch up. Even after such a ghastly confession as he'd just made, she was concerned more about tardiness. "Right this way, then." He stepped across the living room, loudly called out Ministry of Magic, and disappeared in emerald flames. How fitting.

* * *

He met her in the long hall of fireplaces that made up a smaller portion of entrances into the Ministry building. He immediately put a hand on her upper back, leading her gently to the lifts. Instead of taking one with the shortest wait, he lead her towards the second on the right, in front of which a multitude of colored robes and their wearers waited.

"This one here. Only one down."

She nodded, waiting. Nobody fell into line after them, likely because it was already time for everyone to be at their desks. They were the last two in a lift, and were joined by no one. It gave her ample time to wonder and to ask.

"So you're bent on, what? Redeeming yourself?"

"No. Redemption would require that people know who I am. That's counterproductive to being relocated in the first place. I'm doing this for me. And for you, obviously."

"Why?"

"Why? I can't make it up to Potter. Seven divisions fought to offer him a job. He only had eyes for the Auror office. He had money from his parents, some of which he's using on that flat. The Weasley's are too suspicious, though I admit they were my first choice. I didn't deserve to help them, anyway, not after what had been done to them, by people I once called family, people I once trusted implicitly. That left you, which scared me more than the Dark Lord himself. You had been my last choice because I had feared, in the beginning, that you would be hardest to help. You'd refuse, because even you, Granger, are a little proud. The one I'd personally tortured most. The one who had only ever been cleverer than me, kinder than me, and more responsible for her own actions. The girl whose teeth I cursed, whose hair I made fun of, whose very blood I condemned and vilified and was disgusted by."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. I even tried Neville. The second I walked up to his gran in a market, she hit me with her handbag. Not even a word. I just 'looked iffy' to her."

"Smart woman."

Ben rolled his eyes.

"So... Ben."

"Yeah?"

"We'll talk later. We have to. As much as, half a year ago, I would have threatened to kill you myself, I now appreciate a more private manner of working and whatnot."

"So you'll continue like this morning?"

"Yes. But under a few conditions."

"And they are?"

"We are not friends. We are work colleagues at best, acquaintances at usual. We met in a tea shop and you recognized me and bought my latte. I mentioned not having a job and you got me one here after hearing about what a wonderful, selfless person I have been and I use your floo because we have the same shift and Harry's isn't connected."

"Harry's isn't connected?"

"No fireplace. That's not the point."

"Right. Okay. That's... that's fine."

"As for the rest of it. As for the truth - you're not the devil. The devil would have turned us in and offered to torture us himself, for information. The devil would have tortured me even more in battle. The devil would have ran off into the mountains with his family, desperate to cling to his evildoings and spite. But you are not the devil and you are, as of right now, no enemy of mine. It's like how things happened this morning. The wards, your name. You're not who you used to be. You're Ben Holloway now. And Ben is someone I am perfectly alright with."

Draco smiled, even through Ben's face. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not hitting me again. I remember the right hook from third year, I bruised. I mean, I went to the hospital wing to get the bruise taken off, but it was already purple by the time I gave in and did it later that night."

"You deserved every bit. Well, the old you did. I'm still not sure about you now. Don't think I won't do it again if you step a toe out of line."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. A little fire back in Hermione Granger... just what the therapist ordered."

As the doors slid open, six floors underground, Hermione had to fight the pull at the corners of her mouth. He wasn't a friend, clearly, but he was someone she could learn to tolerate a little more. He could have sat back in his comfortable flat and done nothing, but he had. That made a difference - a small one, but a difference nonetheless.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione dressed in regular clothes, folded one of her newly-issued sapphire blue Thought Sector robes, and put it in a small bag to bring with her. She would change once safely at...

What did she call him, anyway? His name was Ben, surely, but now whenever she looked at his face she saw the grey eyes that had narrowed to slits at her as a young woman. She saw the eyes themselves laughing at her, causing her humiliation and pain. That had been Draco. This, then, was Ben. She knew she'd slip up often, but she'd do her best not to. He'd been honest with her. Instead of setting up the floo in a shop in town, which would have eliminated the need, he brought her into his home and confessed everything. It was a step.

She couldn't tell Harry. He'd immediately panic, and she didn't need that now. She was finally regularly conversing with someone other than Harry, and she didn't need that to end, no matter who it was.

Her nightmares that night had been as bad as usual. A handful of people she used to call friends, ripped limb from limb by ravenous werewolves, gone mad with the lust for human meat.

"Breakfast?" Harry popped his head around the corner from the kitchen, eyes hopeful.

After glancing at her new phone, Hermione nodded. "I've got a few minutes for some toast, sure."

She sat at the table and watched as he plucked toast from the toaster, failing at trying not to burn his fingers. He piled a few slices onto a plate and gathered two different jams, butter, and knives onto it as well.

"How was your first day of work? I was worried, I didn't hear from you all day."

"I haven't been taught how to use the inter-departmental memos yet. Perhaps today. Yesterday was mostly security clearance. After the contracts they do this sort of thing to make sure I'm not in league with dark forces or anything, or working for a competitor to steal their results - a competing country or anything."

"Even though it's you?"

"Even though it's me. They figure if someone Imperiused me, I'd be able to get a job there easily, I'm more of a target than most."

"Yeah, I s'pose. Know what you're doing today?"

"A 'full work up', as they're calling it. I can't tell you anything specific..."

"Right. Unspeakable."

She hadn't yet told him that she was in fact allowed to tell one person. And that for some reason, she hadn't chosen him straightaway. She didn't want to burden him with the things that happened down there.

"Yep. Tomorrow is the same as today though, and then we get into real business. Mostly they're just trying to figure out what's wrong with me. There are people having similar issues, but not on the same scale as myself."

"I can imagine."

Hermione spread jam on a piece of toast and stood. "I'd love to stay, but I really only had a few minutes... I've got to get there to meet my floo partner and head over."

"Got it. Who's your partner?"

"Someone... from out of town. Good bloke."

Why hadn't she mentioned Ben, again? Ben was nobody to Harry, nobody at all. If she ever told him that Ben was really Draco, it would be a problem, but perhaps Ben was an alright person to mention. Not today, though. She said her goodbyes to Harry and walked out the door, munching on toast and heading in the direction of Draco's flat. When she walked up to the door, a note was posted to the outside.

 _Door's unlocked. Come in._ She followed the instructions, walking in to see Ben - Draco? - dressed for work with a scone hanging out of his mouth, hands busy with coffee mugs. He noticed her, held up a finger, and finished his task before retrieving the scone from his mouth.

"It's coffee, not chai, but I figured you'd take it with milk."

"I do, thanks." He offered her a blue travel mug and she took it willingly, sipping at the contents. He made an excellent pot of coffee...

In another minute, he finished his routine and they stood before the fire again.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

* * *

Hermione felt the cool glass underneath the pads of her fingers. She'd finished her day of work Wednesday a few minutes early and now stood waiting for Draco in the lobby of the Department of Mysteries - a strangely spare white room with only one door that went both in and out of it in any direction the traveler pleased, and was cleared to enter. There were a dozen doorways like it on the various floors of the Department, and one needed only walk through it to enter the next place. Hermione hadn't yet figured out how it knew exactly where you were heading to, and tasked it to herself for a bit of research. She used to love this sort of thing...

Work had been fairly quick, especially given the fact that she'd been unconscious for the better part of the day. She'd met her boss again in his office, and he explained the more detailed duties of her new position and the potions and magical techniques that would be used. Nothing sounded too dangerous, and Hermione had agreed to everything. His name was John Hendricks, and he wore the same thick-rimmed glasses she'd seen him in on her day signing contracts. He looked somehow more tired in the office, as if more was weighing him down. She couldn't blame him. After half a roll of parchements worth of questions - only a third of which related to the nightmares - Hermione had felt a little uneasy. There were questions there that she didn't know the answer to, things she didn't know about her own life, and it had set her off. _The Basics_ were all easy - name, age, schooling, parentage, health history, mental health history, part taken in the war, ill effects, shoe size, head circumference, hair products used, family instability history, living situation, romantic situation - all were easily retrieved from the top of her mind. The second set was about the nightmares - length, frequency, images, recurring images, people involved, actions involved, amount of self-will within nightmares, average dreams, recurring people and frequencies, relations between people involved and how recently she'd seen them. All of those had been easy, too. But the third set had been personal, a little gritty, and on the whole, unanswerable. After answering questions about her living situation and family history and people involved in her nightmares, the third set had been asked and written down by her boss.

Did she know why they had started? No.

Had she ever had a night without them? No.

Had she ever tried sleeping anywhere else or trying anything different? No, but would it help?

Did she think Ginny had anything to do with it? She didn't think so, but she wouldn't put it past her.

Was Ben a common occurrence lately? Yes, he was, but she couldn't explain exactly why. It was confidential.

Why is it confidential? And might that have a reason to do with why he shows up? It just is. And maybe? She didn't know.

What kinds of things did people say to her in the nightmares? She couldn't always remember. They were always blaming her, but she couldn't remember exactly what they'd said.

Would there be someone who hated Hermione enough to do this to her? Of course there was.

Did she know if anyone else was romantically interested in her? Definitely no. At least, not that she knew of.

Would it cause problems with anyone enough for them to cause it? Definitely not in her present state.

Where were her parents? She didn't know.

What would happen if they returned? She didn't know.

Where would she go if Harry wasn't around? No clue.

Would she be looking for work still if Ben hadn't come through? No idea. Probably not.

The list had continued, wearing Hermione down. When she mentioned feeling a little weary to her boss, he actually smiled.

"Good. That's part of what that exercise was for. Now the real work begins. I'll let you know what I think of your answers later." He had lead her back towards her work area and instructed her to lay on the table, strap herself in magically, and relax. He had her restrain herself so that she could also get herself out if needed, but so that she wouldn't flail or fall off the table in the middle of sleep.

He explained to her that they were going to give her a sleeping draught, one that would knock her out for exactly six hours. When she woke she would be asked a few questions, measured using a few spells, and then released from work for the rest of the day. She only nodded, swallowed the potion when he told her to, and let herself be pulled into sleep...

And the rest had gone as planned. Hermione had another nightmare, one that brought up subjects her boss had asked about. She felt, in a way, that someone was watching her the entire time she was having this nightmare, in the way that some can feel they are being watched in real life. When she woke six hours later to a rumbling stomach and a terrible headache, her doctor asked her very general questions about the nightmare and the subjects. On her way out, she'd braved a question.

"I was... I felt like I was being watched. The whole time."

"You were. Hermione, we're trying a radically experimental sort of charm on you. We don't even have a name for it yet, but it allows us to see into your head, into your very consciousness, without the use of Legilimency, which can really wear you out over time. It's a sort of looking glass into your mind while you sleep."

"That explains that."

"It does. I'll teach you how to do it later in the week, while you're researching. In the mean time, I've actually got one more experiment for you, if you're up for it."

She had agreed, and he had handed her the vial that now rested in her pocket. It had been just minutes ago, but thinking through the possibilities had made it seem longer. She had no more time to fathom the effects it might have before Ben's face showed in the door, wavering lightly as the charmed doorway lead him to her.

"Right. Out early?"

"A few minutes, just barely. I was the subject today, so I had no other work today."

"I see. Ready then?"

It was now that Hermione saw him fully. He was dressed in black work pants and a white button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His work robes were draped over his shoulder, not entirely obscuring the wide spray of blood that traveled from his hip to his shoulder.

"That's... it's nothing. Ready?"

She nodded, following him after he turned back around through the door. They both felt like they were walking straight through a doorway to the giant, cavernous lobby of the Ministry of Magic, but they were nearly fifty meters above where they had just been. Hermione shook her head, following him to the nearest fireplace and stepping into the flames just before he did.

When they landed safely in his sitting room, he shook his hair out, looking down at his robes. He looked at her carefully, just once, then sighed.

"Anything you're not saying?" Hermione asked, eyeing him right back.

"Ah, it's not what I'm not saying, but you." He pointed in the direction of her pocket, where her hand was wrapped around the vial.

"How'd you know?"

"Your hand hasn't stopped moving in your pocket."

Hermione felt her face flush. "Well, I've been preoccupied."

"With?"

"A potion, if you must know. It was a sort of optional thing. Hendricks gave me a vial of potion that will keep me awake, all night, and not tired at all."

"You won't have nightmares if you're not sleeping."

"Right. Except the whole point is to see if it'll actually keep me from sleeping, or if something is messing with my sleep patterns as well."

"Nice point."

"It is. I'm a little... nervous. If we try it and I don't sleep, this could be easier or harder. It'll just tell us one more thing about something we don't know much at all about."

"New information, but not enough to do anything with yet."

"Exactly."

"I can relate. My line of work, and my exact study... have similarities to this. I'm in the middle of research that could tell me everything, or could just not tell me a damn thing at all."

Hermione smirked, hoisting her bag back onto her shoulder. "Well, I'd better be going..."

"I'll drive you home."

"Like that? To Harry's?"

"Good point. And a point for you, too. Will you be alright at Harry's, if you can't sleep all night?"

Hermione thought of the dark sitting room, the creaky futon, the rustling curtains. She was bored enough in the moments before sleep, but an entire night? Ginny would be there, Hermione remembered Harry mentioning it at some point the night before... and that meant Ginny would be hounding her for any noise or disruption.

"I don't have any other choice. I won't go back to my parent's house, that's the worst of all. And I can't just kip under a tarp or something..."

"Nonsense. You've got me. Not here, of course, if you're not comfortable with that... I've got a spare room, but given yesterday, I don't think you'd be willing..."

"You're right on that count, for now. It's still rolling around in my head."

"Let me get you a hotel room. Take a night to yourself... if you're worried about being bored or bothering Harry, both will be negated. You'll have a hotel room and television to yourself, room service, a bath, books, whatever you'd like. And Harry and his nutter girlfriend can have some precious 'alone time'." He rolled his eyes.

"Dra- Ben... that's nice of you, but I just can't, I just..."

"Why not?"

"Hotels in the city are expensive, I couldn't ask..."

"You're not asking, I'm offering." His gaze firmed, and his eyes locked on hers. "I told you you'd never have to ask. I'm the one who tried handing you fifteen thousand pounds, remember?"

"Quite clearly."

"Then you can take a very small portion of that, for the sake of science, if you will, and get a hotel room with it. And take a night to relax, without sleep or nightmares."

"I... thank you. I don't know what to say."

"I'll shower up and make a call. I know a great place, you'll like it I think. Most people do. I've got a man there who loves my stories of times in Wales..."

"You have times in Wales?"

"Ben does." He raised his brows, turning on his heel and walking towards his bedroom door. "There's food in the fridge, if you're hungry. Eat anything. I cook to feed an army, but feed just one man. There's tea or coffee in the cupboard above the sink." The door closed behind him and Hermione dropped her bag on his couch, walking towards the kitchen. It really was pristine, modern even, in glass and black and white and stainless steel everywhere. She'd been ravenous after waking from her induced sleep, since she'd skipped lunch, and upon opening his fridge found more than enough options to satisfy her hunger. There were at least four homemade looking dishes sealed in pricey glass storage containers, each scribbled on in - she tested it - dry erase marker. Smart.

_Lasagna with meat sauce, Thursday_

_Roast chicken with veggies and citrus sauce, Friday_

_Oyster stew with onions and cream, Saturday_

_Shrimp in spicy sauce over rice, Sunday_

She found dishes in a nearby cabinet, beside silverware, and scooped up some of the oyster stew. She'd always been fond of creamy dishes, and this would cure her hunger quickly. A quick bite before heating told her it was good, even cold. Had he made this? When had he learned to cook like this? She'd never tasted anything like it.

He emerged from his room in flannel pants and a white shirt, toweling out his hair. "There's a microwave on the left wall, but I don't suggest it for the oysters. I'll heat it up in a pot for you." He grabbed the dish right from her hands and slid a pot out from under the counter, dumping the contents plus a little more from the fridge. "This is one of my favorites, easier than you'd think. And perfect for cold nights. I love seafood."

She was surprised, to say the least. So surprised that she couldn't think of a first question to ask him, and so resigned herself to asking none at all. When the stew was heated through he ladled it back into the bowls and finished it with breadcrumbs from a pantry and pepper. He returned her plate to her hand and showed her to the table, joining her shortly after with a pitcher of water and two glasses. This was how he just heated something up after work? She felt like it was restaurant service, down to the way he threw a kitchen towel over his shoulder while he'd worked.

"Bon appetit."

She took a small bite. It was divine, even better hot than cold. And the breadcrumbs had been perfect. "Ben, this is..."

"Good? It is, isn't it? I've been cooking."

She said no more, only ate in careful silence, breaking it only to ask for the water pitcher when desired. When they both had finished, they each spent a long moment looking out his almost entirely glass back wall of his apartment at the city and the clouds that filled the sky. It wasn't quite raining, just a little drizzle, but she'd have to take his offer for a ride now, especially since it was to a hotel she'd never heard of.

"I'm going to go change, shouldn't walk into the hotel like this, no matter how much money I've thrown at them. I've got a car downstairs, we'll head down in a moment. There's a bathroom through that door to the right if you need it."

He disappeared and reappeared just moments later in what were clearly expensive denim jeans and a designer button-down, sleeves rolled up to the elbows again. She could see a red mark just inside his elbow but did not comment on it then.

He drove her to Harry's, but did not offer to walk her to the door. "I think I'd better just stay here."

"Good idea. I'll head up and grab some things..."

"Don't worry about toiletries, they have really nice ones there, and a hairdryer if that's your sort of thing."

"I'll have to leave Harry a note..."

"Just say work sent you for it."

She ran upstairs, stuffing a set of pajamas and her toothbrush into a small leather weekend duffel she'd had for years. It was one of the few things she'd retrieved from her parents house, and now most of the belongings she'd kept would fit in there. She packed a set of clothes for the next morning along with a clean set of robes, and penned a quick note to Harry before leaving again.

_Work's got me a hotel room for the night, part of a project. Have a nice night with Ginny. Love, Hermione._

Once they arrived at the hotel, after driving just a few short moments in his luxury sedan, she was not surprised to see that the outside of the hotel looked particularly... fancy.

"This is too much, really..."

"I insist. It's for work, right? Consider it a work favor. Or a welcome-to-the-job gift."

"You're ridiculous."

"As are you. Accept it."

"Fine."

She stepped out of the car and waited as he handed the keys to the valet with a wink. It was a nice car, most of his things were ostensibly nice. One step in the lobby told her that this hotel would be no different.

The marble floors seemed to gleam back up at her as if made from molten gold the color of nice champagne. The columns that ran the length of the back wall, up to the second floor terrace area, were ornately carved and reminded her of old buildings she'd loved to look at as a child. The staff were all dressed formally, including the woman who greeted them at the door and pointed them towards the appropriate desk for check-ins. Draco marched up to the desk, Hermione followed, just catching the end of his comment.

"...earlier, under Holloway."

"Of course, Mr. Holloway. And will your partner be joining you?"

Hermione let out a huff. "I'm not his partner."

The host grinned. "Apologies."

Ben cleared his throat, a ghost of a smile on his face. "No, the room's just for her. I'm paying."

"Excellent. The room you've requested is indeed available, just one key?"

"Just the one, yes."

"I can have someone assist you..."

"No need. She's only here a night."

"Very well then. Here is your key, room number, and elevator card key. You'll have to use the far right car, it's the only one that reaches the intended level."

"Thank you, sir. I'll make sure she makes it up alright and then I'll be back down for one more request."

He looked back at Hermione and she was struck again by his eyes. They were Draco's eyes, but held none of the malice they once had. She followed him to the far right elevator off the main lobby, and light music played over the speakers inside while the doors closed. He inserted the key card into the slot and the round 22 button - the second from the highest floor - lit up.

"Draco..."

"Ben, remember? At least in public."

"Right, _Ben._ What kind of room is this?"

"A nice one. I figured you'd outright refuse the Penthouse, but I got you a suite. Quit looking around as if the place disgusts you."

"Oh, I would have, but it does far from that. I'm just not used to quite this level of... niceness. "

"From people?"

"From floors."

Ben stared at her a moment before laughing. When the elevator doors opened, revealing a short hallway with only six doors, he stopped, looking at her.

"Well, get used to it. If you're going to accept favors from me, as you should, they'll be nice. I don't do anything less. It's a quality control issue."

Hermione rolled her eyes, following him as he expertly walked towards the back left door without consulting signs or the room number.

"Been here with any _partners_ before?"

"Never. I've stayed in this room myself, for a week or two after the war. Before relocation had been fully announced. It was a quiet place to hide."

"Sounds like paradise."

"It is." He looked at her while he opened the door, revealing paradise itself. The same shining floors covered most of the main area. It was divided in half by a short wall, three feet tall, which held rows upon rows of books. A plush white leather sofa sat on a white shag rug, looking out the entirely glass wall onto the very tops of the city around her. There were sparkling glass fixtures surrounding the room, and squashy looking white leather chairs opposite the sofa. The area to the left and behind the sofa was a small gleaming kitchen, seemingly unused, a bottle of mineral water and a welcome note perched on the breakfast bar. On the right was a set of double doors that surely lead into the bedroom.

Hermione stepped inside, heading for the doors, and found the contents to be what she expected - but also so much more. The bedroom, too, was walled entirely of glass on one side. The two rooms made up the corner of the building. The bedroom was white, with a tucked fabric headboard, draped silks over the canopy frame, and - upon touch - the softest sheets Hermione had ever felt.

"The bathroom's through there. Huge sunken tub. Tap for bubbles, reminded me of the prefects bathroom at school. But cleaner."

Hermione only nodded, noticing the numerous shelves stacked with books and fancy-looking trinkets.

"It's amazing. I've never seen anything like it."

"It's nice, yes. I requested this one specifically for the books... it'll give you something to do all night. There's a television in the sitting room, don't know if you saw it around the corner of the doors. Near the squishy chairs."

"Draco... I can't, I really can't, this is too much..."

"You can and you will! It's a hotel room!"

"It's a giant suite that probably costs as much a night as Harry pays for his flat in two weeks!"

"It's as much as I pay for at least a week in mine, but that's not an issue with me."

"It's not funny, Draco! Stop it!"

For once, he saw that her face had turned hard, her eyes squinting. They looked wet, and when he lowered his smirk and turned to her with softness in his own eyes, her tears fell.

"Why are you doing this? Why this room? You don't have to do this, you shouldn't, this whole thing is so wrong..."

"Hermione, I... I have to. You don't understand now and that's fine. Gods, I almost wish you were some spoiled girl who was willing to accept all of this on a silver platter with no question. You're harder to help than I thought."

"Then stop trying."

"I can't. Don't you get that? It's _because_ people have made you cry, and for much worse reasons than a hotel suite. I know you still don't like me or fully trust me, but you can and should accept this for the exact thing I hate about helping you. You're hard to help because you're not pretentious or spoiled, you're not materialistic. You're intelligent and have never pretended to be anything but. And you never... you never felt the need to impress people with money. I know you had money, I know your parents had money, but you never flaunted it the way I did before."

"So you'll just flaunt it some more?"

"It's basically the only thing I know how to do. And if that's my way of helping you, of offering something nice to you so that you don't get bitched at by your best friend's girlfriend, then yes. I will."

Hermione wiped her eyes, sighing. She didn't say anything, but he did.

"And you know what else? Ben Holloway owes this to you because you're the only person he knows. At all. If you were to look into my ministry file, you'd see acquaintances - one. Just you. I don't even speak to work people all that often, not in my line of work. But Draco Malfoy... Draco owes this to you for being such an awful example of both humanity and humility."

She nodded again, wordlessly. He sighed.

"I'm going to go back down to the desk, I've asked for a few things while you're here. You'll accept those, too, if you'd like. They're just offerings. One of them is muffins and chai."

At this, Hermione smiled, not even of her own accord. He was trying to make up for helping her, and she was still making him feel bad.

"I'm sorry. That was... wrong of me. I'm fine. Thank you. For all of this, and for the job. I'd still be on Harry's couch and totally miserable with myself if it weren't for your help, I have to remember that. I have to accept a little help if I'm ever going to get better."

"That's right. I guess I'll go now, leave you to your night... ring me if you need anything?"

"Yeah, I will. Thanks."

He gave a short wave and walked through the doors and through the main door, shutting it behind him. She watched the door after he left, as if expecting him to knock and come back. He hadn't - he'd left the room key on the table she hadn't previously noticed in the entryway. There was a note penned there too, in hurried script.

_Books in the bedroom are romance, those in the shelf in the bathroom are mystery, and the ones in the sitting room are split between non-fiction and humour. Enjoy._

So he knew the book system. Of course he would. He'd been towards the top of their class too, hadn't he? Second or third, officially they'd never know since they hadn't taken their NEWTs, but that had been their OWL results and their class history, anyway. She remembered being highly surprised to see him in Ancient Runes, pouring over his textbook just as eagerly as she had.

As soon as she started getting hungry again, looking over the room service menu, the room phone rang. She had to look for it a bit before finding it on the opposite side of the room.

"Hello?"

"Ms Granger, hello. This is the front desk calling, we were instructed by Mr Holloway to ring around now and offer you an extended menu from our room service offerings, free of charge. Any cuisine you can think of can also be ordered and delivered to your door in thirty minutes or less."

"I... okay."

She thought for a moment before laughing. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but I'd really love some fish and chips right about now."

"Chips, ma'am?"

"Yes, chips. And fish. I'm not sure where right around here is best..."

"We have the number of an acceptable establishment. Any beverages? Wine? Champagne, even?"

"Sure. Bring it up. And some more of that fizzy mineral water."

After a moment of silence and what was unmistakably a sigh on the other end of the line, the employee had assured her it would be there momentarily and to relax while her food was retrieved. She laughed as she hung up, walking towards her bag to reach for her cell. She scrolled down to messages, entered Ben's number, and typed.

_Just ordered fish and chips from the fanciest hotel I've ever been in._

In moments, her phone buzzed, alerting her to his reply.

_They get them from Spinner's, just a few blocks over. They bring you a massive tray of it._

_You've done this before?_

_Almost half the nights I was there. They'll bring dessert, too, if you call. And chai... call me if you need anything._

She smiled, setting the phone down beside her. Being in his presence was a little difficult, but messages sent between them were much less harrowing. She was finally at least comfortable with that. Moments later there was a knock on the door, and the smell of hot oil came seeping through the small crack at the bottom. _Oh, this was heaven._

* * *

Hours later, after champagne and cheesecake so rich she finished a whole slice and called for another, Hermione removed her day-worn clothing and eased herself into the steaming, fragrant water in the bath. She'd been saving this for nearly last, deciding to read the last chapter of the book she'd been reading that night while surrounded by foam and the smell of lavender. She had taken the potion to keep her awake as she sipped champagne with dessert, knowing that a bath might lull her into sleep if she hadn't yet taken it. The water was so hot it almost hurt, but once Hermione was submerged up to her shoulders she let out a breath, low and full of relief. She hadn't had a proper bath in over a year, and this one more than made up for lost time. The tub was deep enough that she could sit fully upright and be in most of the way up her chest, or could lay back and rest, shoulders under water. She tied her hair up with deft fingers and picked up her book, finishing the last chapter in haste. It had been a good read, but quick. Thankfully, she had a few hundred more to choose from before morning.

She spent the next half hour soaking, until her fingers wrinkled up like prunes and her skin smelled of the earthy flowers. She contemplated getting out when her phone rang on the stool beside the tub. It was Ben's name, but Draco's face that she pictured when she saw it.

"Hello?"

"Hermione. Hi."

"Ben, it's... three in the morning."

"I am aware."

"Shouldn't you be sleeping? We have work in the morning."

"I am aware of that also. Perhaps. Tomorrow's Friday, anyway, half day at work. But I was woken in the middle of sleep... I don't really want to talk about it."

Hermione knew that feeling, from her nightmares. She wondered if they had something vital in common. "I see."

"How are you? How's the room?"

"The room's amazing. Took me a while to get used to how big it is..."

She heard Draco laugh slightly through the phone and she frowned. "You're disgusting."

"I'm a man. I'm programmed to be this way."

"Harry's the same, you all are."

"I wouldn't doubt it. Major thing Potter and I have in common. Honestly though, everything is fine?"

"It's wonderful. I had fish and chips, as you know, and had them bring up some cheesecake and champagne for dessert... I had to call someone back up to open the bottle for me, I was terrified that I'd uncork it and it would go flying off and break the whole glass wall."

He laughed heartily through the line, and she joined him for a moment.

"Just off through the wall, opening the whole floor up... funny. I wanted to talk to you."

"Clearly. Why else would you be phoning me at three in the morning?"

"You're not sleeping. I know that much. I just wanted to make sure... you're actually not horrified with me. About who I am."

She took a moment to compose herself before answering. "Actually, I was just thinking about that. In the bath. I was relaxing and just letting it all get through my head, that you are who you are and that this is how my life is right now. At first, I really was horrified. I should have hexed you, outed you to everyone who would listen, told them all about you and you following me. But then I realized you wouldn't have been following me unless you wanted to help or unless you were going to kill me. And you've had plenty of opportunities for that, so I guess you're really helping."

"Good to know you think of me as some sort of murderer."

"I don't anymore, obviously. Or you would have."

"Then you'd just be dead. Yeah. But you're not."

"I'm not, and I'm fully relaxed in this amazing tub and I'm alright, with all this."

"I think maybe I just realized, after changing who I am, that you lost a lot more than I did in the war... I lost a family who didn't care about me, you lost one who did and so much more."

"It's not even just that. Maybe I just can't care about anything else anymore. I had a thought once that if you were to kill me, I'd be okay with that. That's why I continued contact with you."

"It's got to be more than that though, you know that. Or you wouldn't have accepted my help. I think part of you was just waiting for help that you wouldn't feel too guilty about."

"I feel guilty about this."

"But you feel guiltier sleeping at Harry's, living with him and burdening him instead of being out on your own as everyone else is able to do."

"Thanks, I feel a lot better about it now." _Sarcasm would transfer fine over the phone._

"You know that's not how I meant it. But do you get what I mean?"

"Yeah. I do. Part of me was still hanging on to that glimmering thread of hope... I was being tossed around in a storm with only that to hold on to."

"And someone pulled you back down with it."

"Yes, whether I wanted it or not. You did."

She smiled then, and thought he might be able to hear the tone of it while she spoke. She'd certainly heard it of herself. It seemed he had, he said his farewells with a certain air of success and told her to call him in the morning to update him on whether or not the potion had worked. She thanked him again and hung up, climbing out of the tub and reaching for the plush robe on the door hanger. She wanted one of these for home. Not for Harry's home, but for her own place, the one she could soon afford on ministry pay. She wondered if 'Ben' knew where to get one. Her guess was that he did, and owned ten of the same one. She rolled her eyes, settling into the couch with a new book and the ghost of that same smile on her face.


	7. Chapter 7

The sun had made an appearance through her window around six that morning, and she'd watched it rise after calling for her usual chai and sipping it slowly while the day crept into being. Wednesday had come and gone, and after reporting she hadn't slept a wink to her boss, he'd been delighted. She'd just been more apprehensive. A long day of research, not on herself, was spent with him teaching her various techniques, potions, and spells they'd be using, as well as the theory surrounding something they called a Dream Aura, a sort of magical aura that surrounded you while you slept and gave off certain signatures depending on your mood. She'd been interested in the magic and had been prepared to go back to Harry's and ask him how his past two days had been, and if he'd gotten her letter. But a memo had come for her just before the end of the day from his department in chopped fragments.

_Got your note. Best if you stay there one more night. Got in a row with Ginny last night and I left, she's still there. Not a good idea for you to show up. If it's not possible ring me and we'll figure something out._

She barely had to mention it to Ben in the lobby before he told her to spend another night in the room. It was nothing to him, and he was glad to be of more help. She'd spent the second night similar to the first, reading and thinking. She took a second vial of the potion that would keep her from sleeping, but her boss told her it would be her last for the week. Too much could cause problems. She agreed, and got a call around four that morning from Draco, complaining of feeling ill again.

She hadn't slept, not one bit, and while this normally would have been cause for exhaustion and stress, she only felt calm. It had been her first and only set of nights since the war that she hadn't had a nightmare. She'd wanted to call Draco straightaway, but figured he might be sleeping again. He had sent her a message shortly after their second call informing her that he'd be by in the morning to pick her up and bring her back to his apartment to floo into work, and that he had an errand to run across the street before they went in.

He showed up right on time, coffee in hand. He offered to pick her up another, but she showed him her chai and her packed bag. "I'm ready."

She'd showered, combed her hair out with potion, but left her face bare again. The first day of being a test subject had shown her that even while restrained, she managed to mess up her makeup in her sleep. He lead her out the door, checked out of the room, and walked across the street into a department store.

"I've got to pick up a suit for some stupid review for my relocation thing... I've got a few but they're all really sort of young and I need something navy, business looking. I'll head in that direction, I've phoned ahead, why don't you go look at women's things and pick out something to wear to lunch? My review is later this morning and since it's a half day at the ministry, we can do lunch afterwards."

She rolled her eyes, but knew better than to deny his offering. "Fine. I'll grab something. Something dressy?"

"Yeah, a bit. There's a new restaurant a few blocks away, we can walk if you'd like, or if you're wearing taller shoes we can take a cab."

"I can walk in heels. Just don't have a problem with it, I guess."

"Perfect. I'll see you in a few."

He headed up an escalator and she walked around it to the women's department, sorting through skirts and blouses and dresses. She finally settled on a dress, after having shaved her legs the night before for the first time in two weeks, and tried it on. The dusty pink silk was gathered and draped artfully at the waist and swooped across her chest and up over one shoulder. She paired it with simple white leather kitten-heels a set of pearl and gold earrings, setting everything on the counter. A saleswoman greeted her and, likely as instructed, informed her that Mr Holloway was on his way down now to purchase her things. She'd figured as much.

When he did arrive, he insisted on a clutch that matched her shoes and cost as much as everything else had combined. She thanked him, still in awe of the nearly quadruple digit total, and allowed herself to be lead by him, bags in his hands, out the door and across the street, back to the valet who pulled up the car and put the bags in the trunk for them. It wasn't as if it didn't phase him, and it wasn't as if he was just trying to buy her something nice in a continued effort to help her. This was an average errand for him. Just picking something up.

"Is this really how the other half lives?"

"On Fridays, sure." He smirked, revving the engine and turning the first corner quickly. How had things changed so drastically over the past two weeks? And why did it still leave her feeling uneasy?

"No nightmares?"

She smiled. "Not a wink of sleep. Did you get any after we hung up?"

"A bit. Not much. I'm... under the weather."

"Apologies. Get well. Illness is annoying, that's the worst of it."

He returned her smile, but something seemed wrong. He didn't reply.

* * *

After quick days at work and his formal review, the pair headed out for lunch. The few blocks walk gave them time to talk, discreetly, about his review. It had gone well. They'd questioned his connection to her and his actions in that sense, and had warned him that if she ever revealed his identity, they would relocate him again, probably to an entirely different country. He said that was fine, and that they could call her if they wished. She agreed that it wouldn't be a problem, but that she can see how they'd be worried.

The restaurant was mostly empty, given the timing. It was after most regular lunch hours, and there were only three other tables occupied in the whole place. The spotless white tablecloths and endless silverware and glassware impressed Hermione nearly as much as the hotel did, but it was at that point that she began to feel awkward. They weren't even really friends, so why were they acting as such? She decided there was really only one way to fix this, and, in classic Hermione fashion, that was to make things a hundred times worse so that she'd forget the insanity of it all.

After requesting the quietest secluded table in the back and munching on bread while waiting for wine and water, Hermione cleared her throat.

"How was work, before the review?"

"Same as ever."

"Good."

He sipped at his wine, looking into the glass as she spoke.

"I've been thinking about buying books again. First ones since after the war, I guess. After the hotel, I just want to read more and more, like I used to... I was in the middle of work today, we were working on this..."

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"You're only allowed to tell one person about what you do at work. It's got to be someone you trust, at least a little bit. If you try telling another person, your mouth will shrivel up until they stop it, but not for a week after."

"I know."

"What do you mean, you know? Haven't you already talked to Harry?"

"Vague details, but never specifics."

"You mean you're going to tell me what you're doing instead of Harry?" He remembered the clause they'd mentioned before, when he'd gotten her the job. If she didn't choose him to tell her work things to, he'd be made to forget helping her in the first place. Clearly, she'd made her decision.

"He's not always available for talking. He's got a life and a girlfriend he's currently trying to make up with."

"And I've got no life." He rolled his eyes. "Thanks. What did they fight about?"

"He wouldn't say. Seemed embarrassed about it."

"Potter not used to being wrong?"

"Ben..."

"Alright, alright."

"Anyway, they've been monitoring my brain at work. Something called a Dream Aura..." She explained the discoveries to him in detail, her tongue feeling slightly numb as she did. She suspected that was an effect of first telling someone the details of your job. When she finished, their lunches had arrived and they began eating and talking about work.

"Part of Trelawney's class wasn't total garbage, then?"

Hermione nodded. "It's weird hearing it all coming out of someone else's mouths. Of course, she had made up names for things and made us think some of them were of her invention... but that's different."

"And they can see these things?"

"Some people can. True Seers can, but descendants of Seers can usually see them too, or at least feel them a little better than most people. The one in my office, she's this little elderly witch who has worked for the ministry longer than anyone else there. She starting having visions, but she _saw_ nothing - she just heard conversations, spells, whispers. She was twelve. A year later she lost all of her sight, but now she can _feel_ things going on around her. She could feel how many fingers I was holding up."

"You resorted to that?"

"To be clear, I had just woken up from a pretty powerful sleeping draught."

"Still though, that's... unusual."

"I know. I've never heard of magic happening like that before, and I've seen some weird things in our years. They think she might actually be psychic, but she speaks in riddles half the time and other times just... it's eerie."

"I can't imagine."

"Anyway, enough about mine. What about your work? Reasons for the blood?"

"It's... I'd rather not talk about it."

"Who do you talk to, then?"

He tapped the rim of his wine glass twice. "Nobody. But that's because I'd rather not talk about it at all."

Hermione was, at this point, only slightly surprised. She thought he may have had someone at the ministry, someone assigned to his relocation who he might be able to talk to. But there was no one. Hermione suddenly felt as if she were sitting in the middle of a very large stage, with a spotlight bright upon her. He hadn't been exaggerating when he said she was the only person he knew in this life. She'd had a life full of friends, and though they were fewer than some they were also true friends. She thought of his situation - had his friends really even been friends, or followers? But he's lost those too. How lonely. But he'd been a bit more open in the last week, so why was he suddenly completely unable to look at her?

He coughed once, reached for a tissue in his pocket and coughed into it a second and third time. At her raised brow he only shook his head. He glanced once at the tissue in his hand, frowned, ;etting out a big heaving breath, and folded it up, sticking it back into a small tissue packet he must have grabbed it from.

"Just... a cold. Something."

"Yeah, well, 'Tis the season."

* * *

When lunch was finished, the pair stood and took a cab back to his flat. Once there she took off her coat, shook herself off, and sat for a moment. She didn't notice him looking at her until he was already around the corner and in front of her, eyes wide.

"Would you like to stay? For dinner, I mean. I cook on Fridays, it's sort of a thing, I end up cooking for an army..."

"Hence the leftovers. I see. I can't, not today, and it's just... it's weird. Lunch was weird enough."

He chuckled, tossing the tissue from his pocket into a bin just inside his bedroom door that seemed to be full of them. "That's probably true. You sure? I'm making scallops tonight..."

"I'll pass, I should get back to Harry's. He didn't send me another note about tonight so I think things are fine, I bumped into him looking for some department or another this morning and he seemed better than he had in the note."

"Fine. I'll see you Monday?"

She thought for a moment, unsure. But it was, basically, already too late to turn back. She'd very nearly made a decent acquaintance out of Draco Malfoy, now Ben Holloway. The only person he knew and spoke to. And she didn't mind it at all, for some awful and strange reason.

She gathered her things and left, taking a cab instead of waiting in the wet October night. When she returned to Harry's, she found the apartment empty except for him, sitting in front of the TV and eating takeaway she remembered having been in the fridge earlier in the week. It can't have still been good... but this was Harry, he'd eat anything with a good bit of sauce on it.

"Hey, I'm home..."

"Hermione, good. I was hoping you would be. Did you manage alright? I felt so bad, saying you couldn't stay here, but things got heated between Ginny and I, I had to leave, and she threatened not to leave, and I thought putting two and two together wouldn't work out so well."

"Perhaps. Where is she now?" Hermione set her things on the side of the couch and sat, joined quickly after by Harry.

"Her mother's. She might come by soon, but we've fixed things for now, so it should be alright."

"That's... lovely."

"You really managed alright though?"

"I did, I'm fine. The ministry allowed me a little money for a hotel room, and a work acquaintance showed me the way to his favorite hotel and offered to pay the rest. I had a really nice time, actually..."

"With this work acquaintance?" Harry's brow was raised comically high, and Hermione had to force herself, which was quite a feat, not to laugh. _Oh, if only he knew._

"No, no. He helped pay for the room as a sort of welcome, that's all. He's been through a rough time too and he's been the giving sort."

"Good bloke with a bad past."

"You don't know the half of it."

Harry looked as if he might ask another question, but Hermione was spared the awkwardness by the sound of a key in the lock. It had been unlocked to begin with, only Hermione thought to herself that Ginny just liked using the key for the sake of it.

"Harry, I'm home. Well, home, you know..."

She spotted him sitting on the couch and her eyes barely grazed Hermione's person.

Harry smiled. "Hey, Gin."

"Anyway Harry, mum says we're due for breakfast Saturday, so no extra day of work for you, okay? We should be there by eleven."

"Alright..."

"And anyway, she wanted to know if we were free next month, second weekend... Bill and Fleur are coming round for the weekend and she wants us there."

Harry gaped, looking at Hermione, as Ginny rounded into the kitchen. It was like she hadn't seen her at all.

"Gin, you going to say hi to Hermione?"

You could have heard a pin drop - no, a feather. Harry had never heard such silence, almost painfully full. Ginny did not poke her head around the corner, did not greet Hermione, and in fact seemed to have frozen still in the kitchen. Whatever she'd been putting into the fridge, certainly food from Molly, was likely hovering in her hand on the way to the shelf.

Hermione looked at Harry with a bowed head. "It's fine." She kept her voice low, nearly a whisper, as did he.

"It's not, it's..."

There was movement in the kitchen again, but Ginny seemed to only be making herself busy.

"Harry, it's fine.

"It's because of the other night..."

"Your fight? What does that have to do with me?"

"Nothing, it's complicated, it started with how long you've been staying here, and I told her that's my choice not hers, as it is my flat and you are my best friend, and she asked why _she_ wasn't my best friend, and I said it's because she's my girlfriend and you're here and she can't be both..."

Hermione had to clap her hand over her mouth, a noise between a laugh and a groan would have come out otherwise. Harry had no idea that a girl wouldn't want to hear those sorts of things, about another woman being just as important or moreso than she was herself.

"It's fine, Harry. Just leave it. I don't want another fight." She thought longingly of the sunken marble tub in the hotel suite and had to keep from sighing. Well, she wouldn't mind it that much...

Harry stood, brows knit, and shuffled into the kitchen. Hermione heard hushed voices, and relying on instinct turned the lights out. The voices turned to whispers and soon after Harry and Ginny went into his bedroom, and not a peep was heard from them after that.

Was it Harry's comments, like the one he admitted making, that made Ginny dislike her like she did? They had been great friends once - in fact, Ginny had been Hermione's first real female friend, followed by Luna, and that had been it. When she'd learned that Ginny was going to be staying with Harry, she thought they might be able to spend some time together and make better friends. Clearly, just the opposite had happened. Was it really Harry's fault though? Was it really anyone's fault? With comments made like that and the clear idea that Harry and Hermione had, after all, spents months together alone in a tent in forests and on cliffs on the run, was Ginny really to blame for her behavior?

It was too late to deal with such things. Hermione yawned, knowing that sleeping tonight would mean nightmares again, but she was still thankful for the break she'd been blessed with over the past two nights.

* * *

_Three weeks later_

"Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Hermione smiled meekly, looking up at Ben's face in the doorway. He leaned forward for what had come to be their standard greeting - not quite a hug as much as a synchronized pat on the back. Their frequent appearances at work together had brought on a few questions, all of which were deflected quickly by Hermione.

She'd been working for the ministry for a month now, as of today, and was preparing for a formal review. It would be simple, conducted by her boss, John, but she still wasn't looking forward to it. Draco, who she now called Ben only in public and when necessary, had been telling her what they'd done for his first month review. It wasn't anything serious at all, but to Hermione it was another test she didn't think she was fully prepared for, and it worried her all the same.

It was a Friday, similar to the Friday on which he'd first convinced her to go to lunch with him. Before he'd begun helping her, he took lunches alone or cooked for himself, and it had made him rather lonely. Hermione, on the other hand, wasn't quite sure why she was still spending time with him. She had noticed his complete turnaround from the boy she once knew, but that didn't mean he hadn't still been that boy at one point in time. She managed to tell herself that it was because she was a lot like him, now - there was nobody she was comfortable around, besides Draco and Harry, and a second set of ears was quite welcome.

"I'll meet you back in the lobby after? Lunch, maybe?"

She smiled. "That sounds fine. I don't have much to do today, anyway."

They said their goodbyes and Hermione walked through the doorway into her department, greeted instantly by her boss. He had been waiting for her.

"Miss Granger, hello. All set?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"Perfect. Right this way... I've brought in the person doing the evaluation to my office, so you don't have to go up if you don't want to... we'll talk about the past thirty days, your history so far, and what we've found out about your condition, as well."

She only smiled, stepped into the door he opened for her and glancing at the older man seated at the desk. She knew that face all too well, grinning wide and shaking his head. It was Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Kingsley? Oh, my god, how are you?"

He stood, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and smiling. "I've been well, though you clearly have not. As far as nightmares are concerned, anyway. John tells me you're an excellent addition to the division."

"I do my best. It's gotten a bit personal..."

"I can only imagine. Sit."

"What are you doing evaluating me? You're minister."

"I am. But that remains the smallest of my jobs. On top of being Minister for Magic I am a colleague, a fellow war-hero, and a friend."

She smiled, and they all sat again.

Her boss took out a rather lengthy sheet of parchment and cleared his throat. "Now, Miss Granger. There are many things we should discuss. As the Minister has mentioned, you have indeed been an invaluable addition to our team down here, and we owe all of that to your friend Mr Holloway."

Kingsley stiffened, and Hermione knew why. He would know who Draco was now, but he wouldn't know that she knew. He turned to her. "Can we speak outside? Just for a moment?"

"Kingsley, it's... I know. I know him."

"You do?"

"He told me himself. He just... wanted to help."

"While I don't doubt that, I also don't understand what might cause you to... never mind. I figure I would have worried more about this conversation with Harry, or someone else. You're... different."

"I can make intelligent decisions, if that's what you're after."

"It is."

Meanwhile, John looked puzzled. What about decisions?

Hermione nodded her head. "Good. I expected this even less than you, but seeing as you know the reason we're conducting my evaluation down here as opposed to in an official room, you know that I have very little friends left, and very few people I can stand facing."

"And yet you can face him?"

"He has a different face... it's like he's an entirely different man."

John was at this point quite perplexed, and eager to get on with the meeting. "Well, if there's more for you two to discuss, feel free, but I have to begin this list or we'll never finish."

Kingsley nodded, smiling. "My apologies, John. There was just a small matter I had to discuss with Miss Granger."

John nodded. "In hushed tones and keywords, yes... well, where shall I begin? My summary, I suppose. Miss Granger has been an excellent addition, so on and so forth, when not acting as a vitally important test subject she conducts even more conclusive research than some of my most experienced employees. It appears that her personal connection to the problem and dark magic at hand gives her a unique insight into subject matter, and a stronger drive to find what is at the heart of her own problem. We've been discovering that some combination of ordinary muggle Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, combined with torture from Bellatrix Lestrange, capture by Death Eaters, as well as several months in mostly-solitary journey, have been affecting her mind and her Dream Aura. The reciprocation of violence, as shown by her participation in the war, may have furthered the damage to her mind and the effects of what has been happening to her. The initial cause for her ailment is unknown. We can not identify it as a curse, dark spell, jinx, hex, or any other sort of definable cause."

Kingsley pondered the description. "And was she at all desensitized to violence? Could that be the cause of the nature of her nightmares?"

"We all thought, at first, that it could be a cause. But it would take a serious desensitization, a killing, for her to have been affected. She would still, if that were the case, be unafraid of harming others. But she sees good in people, always."

Kingsley gave her a sidelong glance. She knew what he was thinking of - Draco, and his identity. "I'm certain of that, at least. I have one other question. Have you studied the lost of one very close to her? And how that might have escalated things?"

 _Ron._ Of course. She nodded. "I've thought of it myself. It's something we can't really measure or test, only that my aura shifts differently when he's involved in a dream. At times he's harmed the worst, sometimes I just envision his death, over and over again, slow motion. But the differences in my nightmares about Ron aren't what bothers us the most - me, especially. I think the part that baffles most of us is the wild discrepancies in intensity. Sometimes I see only vague images, or hear haunting noises - their voices, things like that. But at times I not only see what's happening in the nightmares, I _feel_ it."

Even John was a little surprised by this one. She hadn't yet revealed that she could physically feel affects from her dreams. "What do you mean?"

"Once, someone was... burning in my dreams. And I smelled the burning flesh. It had happened once before, only I had woken to Harry making breakfast sausages, so I thought it was the same thing. The second time though, Harry was already out for work and there were no dishes out. I had smelled what had happened in the dream."

"That's... not supposed to happen."

"I'm aware. I don't like it either. There was another time, too. I was crawling on the floors of Hogwarts, badly injured. I could feel the stab in my chest, but I didn't seem to be bleeding yet. I saw a girl I went to school with - Lavender - walking next to a shadow that was unmistakably Ron's. I tried crawling after them but my hands kept sticking to the stones, and the skin and flesh were being ripped off. I could feel how raw my hands were. I tried catching up, but the shadow only grew, it wasn't Ron anymore but a fanged monster, and he attacked Lavender. Her blood spattered, and I felt it hit my face. When I wiped my face, I could feel the raw skin and flesh, the blood slipping across my skin. In perfect detail, though I'd never felt anything like it before."

John had, moments ago, started feverishly taking down notes. "How long ago was this?"

"A week. I thought it was a fluke, but they're happening more often now. The ones where I can feel things."

She played with her hands in her lap. That had been the final bad signal to her - sensing things. You weren't supposed to feel things when you were asleep.

"Very... very well. Minister, I petition Miss Granger's employment to be continued in my department and under my watch for the immeasurable future. To my understanding she has passed with flying colors, and her work and experiences have been invaluable to this team."

"I'll second that. Miss Granger, it seems Mr Holloway did you a great service, pulling a few strings to get you a job here."

"It would seem he had, doesn't it?" She made eye contact with Kingsley and he shook his head slightly. "Can I speak to you outside for a moment?"

She stepped outside as John finished writing notes, and Kingsley started walking towards the door.

"How far 'outside' are we going, Minister?"

"Please, Hermione, don't call me minister."

"But you are."

"Yes, well. We've known each other for far too many years to resort to politeness and graces. You know my name as I know yours."

"That's true."

He walked her out into the lobby, concentrated a moment, and then walked through. "Follow me closely, it'll only hold for a few seconds."

She followed him through the doorway as instructed and found herself in the tall, circular office that belonged to him.

"I've been in here once before. Just after the war. You weren't here just yet..."

"I had some business to attend to. And I have some now. How long have you known the true identity of Ben Holloway?"

"About a month. I knew him two weeks or so before that. He sent me a postcard at Harry's, arranging a meeting. At that point I'd hardly brush my hair or get out of bed, but it was the first serious thing that had happened in months. I needed to try something, anything."

"You've been very private. Why not with him?"

"Have you ever spent a week having nightmares about everyone you know and love dying?"

"Can't say I have."

"I do. Week after week. Every friend, every family member - gone. But this was somebody new, or so I thought. He just wanted to help. He'd tried helping a few others, but most had refused his help. I had too, but when he saw me, I hadn't slept more than four hours in almost a week, I had dark circles and maybe fifty pounds to my name, I had lost weight, I couldn't eat. I don't know what he felt in that moment but he refused to not help me. He went to the same tea shop I did. I refused a fifteen thousand pound check from him. He told me he'd find a way to help, one day. I had, unbeknownst to him, been having difficulties getting a job. I couldn't get my facts straight for a muggle job, and couldn't risk a public job in the wizarding world - I'd only see the faces I saw at night, and last time I'd tried that, I screamed and scared poor Seamus away from me for weeks."

"And how did you find out who he was?"

"I told him the only way I'd accept his help was for a job. He'd mentioned being an Unspeakable, so I thought it might work for me. I had no idea there was a position that basically had my name on it. He pulled a few strings, arranged for a Floo in his flat so I wouldn't have to use public entrances and see anyone I didn't want to. I was having nightmares about him now, but something seemed familiar about him. I couldn't get it out of my head. I thought something just seemed wrong, but later, when he said his name to let me in through his wards, something changed.

"He tried, at first, using his birth name to let me in. Draco Malfoy. But the charm failed. He'd just signed paperwork, so that legally wasn't his name anymore. At that point, he'd already done so much good for me - gotten me out of the house, gotten me thinking of something - anything - other than my nightmares - that I gave in. I wasn't happy, and I told him I should have personally hexed him and outed him to the entire world, and he understood. He felt bad for not telling me, but I knew I wouldn't have taken his help if I'd have known who he was."

"And John called him your friend."

"In a way, he is. You must understand, the only person I can stand to see these days is Harry. And Ginny, when she's around, but she refuses to acknowledge my existence. She's angry with me for some reason. Draco - Ben - is a welcome addition. I wasn't happy at first - I'm still not happy that it has to be him, I miss my old friends - but Ben is an entirely different human being than Draco ever was."

Kingsley nodded, and now _he_ was taking notes. "He's not supposed to reveal himself."

"Well, erase my memory. I don't care."

"Would you?" He stopped, looking her in the eye. The question struck her dumb. In a month of knowing his true identity, she'd never prepared herself for this question, this test. Would she care, if she didn't know who he really was? It had, in fact, been his turnaround and his step into the good side that had made him acceptable to her, as opposed to some random man who had wanted to help her. A random person would have always had her suspicious, but someone who had admitted faults and lies, someone who had changed so vitally and wanted to help - she admired that, somehow.

"I... I would."

"Well, 'Ben' has another review coming up for that. I'll include your positive review, not that he needs it. I had been informed that he'd made a friend - he didn't, his first few months - but I'd have never guessed in a million years that it was you. You're sure you're alright with this? We could relocate him again, anything."

"No, no. Certainly not necessary. In fact... what time is it?"

"There's a wall of clocks behind you. The green one on the left shows local time."

She turned around, stifling laughter. It was indeed a wall entirely crammed full of clocks. "Just past noon. Which means, Minister, that I am free for the day. And I happen to be doing lunch with my friend Ben Holloway. You know him?"

Kingsley shook his head, tucking the notes away. "We'll speak no more on this subject. I trust you. And Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck with the nightmares. It's an awful thing to happen to someone who has never done a bad thing in her life."

Hermione nodded, walking back through the doorway that would lead her to the lobby. He must have his own connection to the doorway, of course. He was the minister, and he knew everything that happened in his ministry. It had been good to talk to someone about Draco, but his suspicions and willingness to send him away had unsettled her. Mostly, she thought, because she didn't want that at all. Not one bit.


	8. Chapter 8

"Happy Halloween!"

"And to you, John. Taking the kids out tonight?"

"Every year. My daughter's a princess for the fourth year in a row and my son is too afraid to dress up. He thinks his old mum and dad won't recognize him, doesn't quite get it yet..."

"He's, what, two?" Hermione smiled. She'd heard her boss talk about his children before, his daughter was seven and his son was, she thought, two.

"Yes. We're taking him along anyway, hoping he doesn't get scared of everyone walking around... you know how it is, there are cute kids dressed up everywhere and the random teenager who wears some bloody mask and scares the little ones."

"Awful. Well, I'm heading out for lunch, I won't be in tomorrow, just too tired."

"That's fine. I'll see you Monday."

Hermione hoisted her bag up onto her shoulder, walking towards the doorway at the edge of the department. Draco would be waiting in the lobby for her again, and they'd do lunch - again. It was a regular thing now, lunch on Fridays. She wouldn't stick around at his flat after work, but they would meet Friday or some Tuesdays and Wednesdays after work and vent about work and stress and having nobody else to talk to, over French or Italian or Thai or Sushi or Chinese or any number of things they could find. Today was just a casual Thai lunch, they had both decided a big bowl of hot soup and a plate of Pad Thai would be perfect for the nasty cold that gripped the city. It wasn't raining, nor had it snowed, but it still felt like the coldest day so far out of the year. He was waiting in the lobby, as she knew he would be, spattered with just a spray of blood near his collar.

"You bring an extra shirt?"

"No, we'll have to stop by my flat. I forgot, and I wasn't supposed to have to... anyway, it'll be quick." He smiled, leading the way back through the doorway to the high main lobby of the ministry building. He quickly lead her to and through the floo, and in moments they were back at his flat.

So far, with his watchful eyes, she'd managed to avoid seeing almost everyone. There had been a day where a girl who Hermione recognized as having played as a fill-in with Harry on the Hogwarts Quidditch team had passed her in the lobby and said hello... she hadn't panicked too bad, but did then run the rest of the way to the floo while 'Ben' stayed behind and made a quick comment about her feeling under the weather. She thanked him for it often, but he never said a word about that or about any of his help. In fact, though they were very near friends at this point, he hadn't said a word about that, either. She was glad, in a way, because it kept them both from possibly having another confrontation or of the whole thing being ruined by the awkwardness.

Once back in his flat, Draco called out that he would jump in a shower really quickly, and then dress. Hermione knew, since this had happened before, that he never ever took more than five minutes to get ready. He could shower in two. It was nice to not have to sit around his flat, beautiful as it was, and remember where she was and why. Moments later he was changed and they left again, walking side by side to the homely little cafe nestled in the corner of a shopping center. Hermione got takeaway here with Harry a few times, and Draco had been here as well, and both knew exactly what they wanted - which, to their amusement, was very nearly the exact same thing.

They ate in silence for a moment, spare hands tucked into their own laps across the little booth in the back. The cafe was warmer than the outside, but still not quite as warm as they'd have liked. Even the little hostess woman ran back and forth between tables rubbing her hands together to keep them warm. Finally, Draco spoke, his voice carefully controlled.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You're already going to."

"Why won't you ever come for dinner?"

"It just... I don't know. The situation is still a little weird."

"It's been a month and a half that you've known me now. If you can't handle it at this point, you should probably walk away and find a new way into work. I wouldn't blame you."

"It's not that, it's... I don't know what it is."

"Then try? Maybe?"

"Maybe. When?"

"Tonight?"

"Isn't tonight the ministry dinner? You go to those things, don't you?"

"Maybe not tonight. I don't know. We could talk later. It's Halloween. If people come knocking on my door and I'm sitting there alone while they're all laughing, I might scream. I never talk at the dinners anyway... I don't have anyone to talk to in the first place, and I've never been one for stepping out and making friends, change or not. And it's Friday. I cook on Fridays."

Hermione thinks of her own plans for the evening, which had previously included sitting alone on Harry's sofa while he and Ginny were out at the dinner together. Alone. The same thing. But why should they have to be alone, if there was an option to not be? Harry's television got awful reception, anyway...

"Fine. I guess I could."

"Excellent. You know, before this, only one of my dining chairs has ever been sat on. End closest to the kitchen. Nobody has ever sat on the other seven."

"That's depressing."

"So are holidays alone. I'll have to go to the market, pick up some things, one I won't find at a common market, I'll have to make a little trip out of it... should I pick you up?"

"I can walk."

"Seven, then."

"Seven." She blinked over her Pad Thai. As much as the situation was still possibly the weirdest thing about her life right now, she did have to admit it was much, much better than being alone.

* * *

"Trick or Treat!"

The doorbell must have rang a thousand times in a row, as if a small hoarde of children were pressing the button all at the same time. It had not been the first attack, and not the second or third or even tenth. But Draco had realized, all too late, that he'd forgotten to pick up a bag of treats. It was just after seven, he'd be expecting Hermione any moment, and...

He opened the door to a handful of tiny goblins, ghosts, and one very tiny mermaid girl who looked about two. They all held out bags, and he felt awful about not having anything to give them. Since when did he like children? He wondered, in a flash, if his ministry-changed appearance would change him enough to change what his children might someday look like... he tore the thought from his mind just in time to see Hermione turn the corner to his front door, bag in hand. She squeezed past the group and their parents, reaching into a grocers bag and pulling out a few sweets, which she tossed into the bags.

"Happy Halloween! You all look so frightening! Except you of course, dear, I love your tail!"

In a moment they were all gone. Hermione deposited the bag of sweets on the table in the foyer, slid her coat off her shoulders, and hung it on the peg.

"Sorry I'm late, stopped by to get a bag, had a feeling you'd forget..."

"I did. Thanks. I was just working up the nerve to tell them it was Pasta or nothing."

"Are we having pasta?"

"No, but according to my list at the grocer's, we're having everything else I can cook."

Hermione laughed as he pulled the receipt from his back pocket. It must have been over a foot long. The second, which looked like it was from a small grocery as it was handwritten in messy scrawl on nice typed paper, contained only a few items.

"So what are we having?"

"You'll see when it's done. Is there anything you won't eat, speaking of food?"

"I'm pretty adventurous. I had to be, going on holiday with my parents. As long as it's not loaded with bell peppers, I'll eat it."

"Good. Not a bell pepper in sight. I can't stand the things."

He returned to his kitchen, small towel over his shoulder. "I should warn you though, I like heavy meals."

"That's fine, if it's hot it'll work perfectly tonight." She set her purse down on the couch and looked towards the table. There was a drawer open on a small table beside it, with a tall candle stuck haphazardly into it and a lighter on top, as if he couldn't decide if it were proper for a simple dinner with a friend. She wanted to laugh, but she didn't want him to know she'd seen it, and resorted to walking into the kitchen to watch him.

He moved quickly, almost gracefully. When he reached for something he didn't have to look, clear evidence that he knew his kitchen better than most any other person she knew. Harry was constantly trying to do this sort of thing and knocking a pan over or sending a butter dish flying.

"There's wine in the fridge, if you'd like. The other market I went to is this little french place just outside town, I like going there for special ingredients or good French wine. This is one of my favorites. If I weren't careful I could go through an entire bottle by myself in a night."

Hermione had grown up taking sips from her parents glasses, as they were inclined to let her. She'd always been a rather mature child, and raised in a fairly wealthy household. She didn't have to think hard to remember that Draco had been too, and had likely done the same with his own mother.

"I'd love some. Glasses?"

"Over the sink."

"And for you?"

"A short pour, for now."

She poured just a little into each glass and set one far enough away from him that he wouldn't knock it over, and leaned against the counter. "If it's any indication, it smells amazing."

"Plenty of garlic, always."

"And I smell artichokes."

"It's in both dishes. I was feeling artichokes and they were on sale."

"Sounds like you're cooking a veritable feast."

"Something like it. We're having my favorite dessert later. I accidentally invented it."

He smiled and she did too. There was something more relaxed about the whole thing. She was over for dinner, she'd finally done it. And it hadn't been as momentous or weird as she'd expected. Another set of children rang the doorbell and Hermione went to the door, passing out sweets. When she returned, Draco was stuffing another tissue into his pocket. The trash can was right behind him, but he didn't toss it there, even though he could probably navigate this kitchen with his eyes closed. She didn't want to mention it for fear of embarrassing him, but knew that there was something strange about it.

Distracted by Draco taking a step towards the refrigerator, she forgot about it momentarily. He took out something in a small white package and set it on the counter, took a sip of his wine, and rested against the counter opposite her.

"I've got a few minutes."

"I'm guessing you got the wine-drinking thing from your parents."

"I did. We traveled a lot, though it was a little more forced than wanted for me. My first trip was to Spain, the summer before we started at Hogwarts. I was eleven, and we ate a ton of Paella and Spanish delicacies, but my father didn't like any of it. He was always really fussy, insisted on a nice restaurant where he could yell at waitstaff and demand anything he wanted. Didn't always work out for him, abroad. After a few years he stopped going out to eat with us and stayed in for food with whoever he was scheming with. My mother and I would go out, and she taught me about food and all the places she'd been before she married my father."

"Sounds..."

"Awkward? Sort of awful. It was. I imagine yours were better."

"We always had the best holidays. It became harder and harder to pass on them and stay with Harry and Ron. We'd go skiing in the Alps, we went to France, Italy, Russia, India, Greece, Egypt, plenty of places. My parents loved food, but weren't big on desserts - they were dentists, so I never had much dessert except at Hogwarts. I came back with my first cavity after third year and they didn't want to talk about it. It was like it was the worst thing I could have done."

She smirked, rolling her eyes. In her parents eyes, it probably was the worst thing she'd ever done. "I remember once in France, I convinced them to get creme brulee, and my mum didn't let me eat any of the sugar on top. She chipped it all out and put it on a little plate. France was beautiful."

"It's one place I haven't actually been. It's a funny story, really. I'll tell it in... oh, about five minutes. Dinner is almost ready. Want a taste?"

She nodded, stepping towards the stove. All four burners had some sort of pot or pan on them, simmering away. Before she could get the spoon from him, the doorbell rang again. "I'll be back."

When she did return, he was already plating things, setting them out on the table.

"So, what is all this?"

It was a spread, to say the least. There was a loaf of steaming hot crusty french bread, a gravy boat filled with a creamy looking sauce, a little bowl of linguine next to a small bowl of what looked like escargot and artichokes, all grouped together. There was a heavy cast iron skillet with chicken breasts with melted cheese on top, artichokes and pearl onions and other vegetables surrounding them. Everything smelled divine.

"The pasta, escargot, and sauce all go together. Pick up a bunch of the artichokes out of that one, they're perfect. The chicken is cooked with artichokes and melted goat cheese, it's a little tangy but the pearl onions cut that a bit. I've got bread to mop up the sauce, and sometimes I scoop up the little escargot with it too. Bon Appetit."

So, he could cook. She hadn't had a real, nice home cooked meal in quite some time. He sat at the head of the table and she sat just around the corner next to him, placing her napkin in her lap. There was mineral water - the same brand as had been in the hotel - and more wine on the table.

She took a little of everything and took her first bite of pasta with escargot and artichokes - there was no debating, this was the best thing she'd ever eaten. After several moments of culinary bliss she set down her fork and turned to him. He was sucking the last end of a noodle into his mouth, looking at her.

"This is amazing."

He grinned now, proud of his work. "I know."

"How long have you been cooking?"

"Since the relocation."

"You learned to cook like this in five months?"

"Six. Don't forget the entirety of May. Well, half of it. I ate a lot of takeaway at first, but I put on a whole stone really quickly and quit that pretty soon after. Decided to start cooking, which is where the story I brought up before comes in. See, I had just gotten out of my first meeting, face changed and all. I was ready for a new start, and realized I'd have to buy all new things. I'd already had the flat, and a bed, but I went out and bought furniture, a radio, and the like. But I passed an electronics store on my way out and saw a big tv in the window - the one that's right over there - and it was on some travel channel, showing the french countryside. I've never been to the country, not in any country. Parents always thought it was too dirty."

He took a sip of wine, sitting back. Hermione dabbed at the sauce on her plate with a bit of bread.

"Anyway, I knew I had to see it one day. Still haven't gone, but I started with cooking that very day. Went and bought a good set of cookware, filled my new fridge, and almost burned the flat down. Had to throw out the pans and get a new set the next day. This time I was a bit more careful. Still, everything I made for a week was almost inedible. I had no concept of measurement and had never cooked before. I've gotten slowly better and have learned that sometimes it's just best to follow a recipe exactly as stated."

"Well, wherever you got these from, I give them my thanks."

"And no compliments to the cook?"

"I already did, but I'll do it again. Draco, this... this almost, _almost_ makes me regret hitting you in third year. If I'd have known you would one day cook like this for me, I'd have hugged you."

"That's a little over the top."

"Yeah, it is, but this is divine."

They both laughed, eating in silence for a moment and sipping through a bottle of wine. When at last they were full of dinner, Draco checked on something in the fridge.

"About ready. Perfect timing, really." He pulled the little ramekins from the fridge, unceremoniously dumping the contents into crepes and folding them over. "So I've got to explain this... I'd never had creme brulee and wasn't sure how it was supposed to taste. So I made it one night, after having made crepes with a bunch of vegetables and sauce in them, and I burned the sugar until it was nearly black. Bad idea. I couldn't eat the tops, so I chipped off the sugar and dumped the custard into a crepe. It's not like most crepes with cream, they're really dense, I just eat them straight or with a little jam. Sometimes with a banana, but it's not my favorite. Last week I tried this out, I just burned a little sugar a bit in the oven and cracked it up and put it on top, and it works fine." He reached into a little dish and sprinkled some of what she was sure was the sugar, over the crepes.

"But now that you know how much to burn the sugar, couldn't you just make creme brulee?"

"Trust me, this is better." He held his chin up, certain of his food. Hermione laughed again, taking the small plate from him. It was pretty good, though it probably didn't stun her as much as the pasta with the snails and cream and artichokes. She noted that she might have to forget her lunch one day next week and need to have some leftovers of his.

They sat talking for nearly an hour about travel, and the differences between the wizarding world and the muggle world. Draco had never watched television as a child, there hadn't been on at the Manor, and the one he owned now was one of the first screens he'd ever really watched. She avoided talking about growing up with muggles, unsure if it would still bother him, and chose to talk about something she liked even more - work. She'd come to really enjoy her job, nightmares or not. And she finally brought herself to a topic she hadn't known she was ready to share.

"You were in one, actually. Last week."

"What happened?"

"You and 'Ben' were walking side by side, and you had the same eyes of course but everything else was different - clothes, facial expression... the face you wear now was calm, happy almost. Your old one was mean, staring me down. But in the last moment before you reached me, Draco killed Ben. Destroyed him. I woke up completely out of breath and ultimately a little confused."

"I'd have been too, but just because it's so backwards. Maybe your mind just got it wrong. See, Draco didn't kill Ben. Ben killed Draco - or at least, the sniveling little brat he used to be."

She noticed at that moment that children had stopped knocking long ago, and checked her watch.

"It's nearly eleven... I know you like to work on Saturdays, I won't keep you up."

He seemed a little disappointed, but didn't show it long. He smiled. "I can't blame you for leaving. But... really." His smile fell. "Thanks for coming for dinner. I despise weekends alone. At least on weekdays I've got work and then work in the morning, but weekends I just wander around by myself."

"I know the feeling. Maybe we'll meet up again. But I'd really better get going, I didn't tell Harry I'd be going anywhere and he's due home about now."

They said their goodbyes and Hermione gathered her things. A part of her wished she could stay longer, help him pack up, talk a little more. It had been nice to have a real conversation with someone, anyone. Harry would talk to her, but given his life before and between Hogwarts, he wasn't always cheerful company. Plus, he rarely had time to talk for more than twenty minutes. She walked out the door, hailed a cab, and hopped in.

It wasn't bad, to say she'd enjoyed it. Was it? Her brain was still a bit fuzzy from the wine, she'd had a good three glasses even though she'd only meant to have one. But it went so well with the food, and her stomach growled. She was far from hungry, but just thinking about that chicken and the cream sauce and dessert was making her want more. She had half a mind to turn the cab around and go back and chat and eat more, but it would be completely senseless and besides, she knew Harry would worry about her.

When she got to the door and found it unlocked, she knew he might already have been. She opened the door to Ginny walking into the hallway, removing her earrings. She'd always looked good in gold, and wore a shimmering sort of sheath dress and slim golden heels. Hermione looked down at her own skirt and blouse and felt underdressed, though she knew it was close to the best she'd looked in a year.

Harry noticed her almost immediately, grinning. Clearly, by his look, he'd had a bit of wine too. She remembered one night on the hunt where they'd managed to nick a bottle of wine from someone's cabinet on their porch dining area, and he'd had on this exact same face, a little sleepy and a little mischievous.

"Hermione! I was wondering where you'd gotten off to. We went to the dinner and came back and you weren't here, and I asked Ginny - Gin, didn't I ask you where Hermione had gone? But she didn't know either, wouldn't expect her to."

Ginny walked down the hallway, not answering Harry at all, and Hermione only caught a glance of the look on her face as she walked into the bathroom - as if she'd smelled something unpleasant.

"Anyway, where were you? You knew where I'd be, of course, but I was about to get worried..."

"I was out with a work friend."

"The same work friend from the hotel?"

"It's not like that, I told you that. But yes. We had dinner and talked about our childhoods, some muggle things we had, and the like."

"On a Friday?"

"Yes, on a Friday."

"What, like a date or something? I don't..."

In a flash, Ginny was in the doorway to the hall. "It's none of your business, Harry, what she does."

Harry raised his brows, turning back to Hermione as Ginny stomped off again. "She's probably just wanting me to give you some space. She really is a nice girl most of the time, you know that..."

"You should get some sleep, Harry. You look... tired."

"I am. Knackered. I'll see you in the morning?"

"Yeah. I'll be here."

"Good, we'll have breakfast after Gin leaves for her mothers." He stood, and without further ado shuffled into his bedroom. From where she sat, it sounded like he had flopped down on the bed without bothering to remove his shoes or anything. It took everything in her not to laugh. The lights in the hallway and beyond went out, and Hermioned turned the lamp beside the couch on just long enough to change and grab her phone, which had flashed while she was talking to Harry.

_Thanks again for coming by. Maybe we'll do it again some time. Ben._

In spite of herself, she smiled, plugging the phone into the charger. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. And maybe he'd just won her over with food.

She heard Ginny muttering something down the hall and composed her thoughts. Clearly, Harry had just thought that Ginny was giving Hermione her space. Harry who hadn't had a few drinks would have known better, but she might not mention it to him in the morning. It was clear to her now, as it had been some time, that Harry cared a great deal about her. He had always been very protective of her, even when she hadn't needed it, and perhaps that was what Ginny didn't like. Harry had always touted one of his favorite things about Ginny as being that she could play with the rest of the boys without a comment, but no matter how tough Hermione had been, he'd always protected her. Maybe it had something to do with that. Maybe...

She drifted off to sleep, unable to give the idea any more thought at all.


	9. Chapter 9

_It was the same office she stood in now, just three hours previously. John Hendricks stood just beside her, hands clasped in front of him and brows lowered. This did not look good. The little Seer woman, who Hermione had finally learned was named Maureen had her arms straight out in front of her, hands bent back at the wrists at a corner. She seemed to be feeling the very air around Hermione, who was clearly knocked out. She had a bit of drool, how embarrassing..._

_Maureen stepped closer, nodding. "It's still strong here." And then back again. "The same." John told her to walk, feeling for the Aura, until she couldn't feel it anymore. Hermione knew, after being a researcher on this same experiment a week ago, that the aura was supposed to stop within two feet of the subject, but Maureen had already been nearly four away. This wasn't normal already, and when Maureen slowly took step after step back away from Hermione - ten feet, fifteen, twenty - and was still nodding, still feeling the aura, she knew something was seriously wrong. John reached up to take off his glasses, taking in the sheer distance between Maureen and Hermione at which her dream aura was lashing out, reaching out around her. He brought his hands to the tops of his arms, as if he were cold, and stepped back a few paces, trying to get out of range. In his movement he was distracted, long enough that he forgot to tell Maureen to stop before she hit the wall at the back of the office._

_Most dream auras stopped at two feet. Hermione's had passed forty and the only sign of it stopping was a wall that kept the little Seer woman from feeling any further. In what was practically a whisper from the old woman, sadness in her unseeing eyes, she turned her face skyward._

_"It's still here. I can still feel it."_

_John nodded, dismissing her to return to her department. He lead her to the doorway, at which point she knew the way by memory, and returned to Hermione's desk beside the table she now lay on. He shook his head, took a few notes, and the memory wavered, Hermione rose to the ceiling and..._

She was back in the office, pensieve under her face.

"Do you understand what you just saw?"

John had given her his memory to watch of her sleep that afternoon, trying to show her exactly how strange her case was.

"We've never seen anything like it. The closest we've ever gotten was near three feet. _Three_. Yours probably extended through that wall and into the closets on the other side and maybe even farther than that."

"So what does it mean?"

"It means my first guess - a localized, perpetualized mood or memory charm - is wrong. It was the simplest. My second guess, a hex - also wrong. But I've got three volumes of dark curses and hexes and spells that could have caused something like this, so we'll start on those."

Hermione shook her head. "Actually, I... today's nightmares really messed with my head. Is it alright if I leave a little early and we get started tomorrow?" She glanced at the clock - past two. She wasn't leaving that early at all, and she could send a quick text to Ben's phone...

John smiled kindly. "Of course. I can't imagine. Take your time... tomorrow we'll delve into the books and see what we can come up with. Get some rest."

Hermione refrained from mentioning to him that rest would cause her more nightmares, and took her bag and left.

In reality, it _had_ been a particularly tough nightmare. They'd gotten less gory, somehow, and more mental. They were messing with her head, her very perception of her life and time and her senses. She woke sometimes not trusting her own eyes. Just in her sleep and experimentation that day, she'd had the worst yet...

It was Harry and Ginny from the picture, with Ginny clinging tightly to him but Harry looking towards her. He reached for her, but she couldn't move towards him, something was holding her back from walking. Ron's body is somewhere beside them, but it keeps moving. Ginny leaves Harry's side and walks towards her, vanishing at points and reappearing like a ghost. As soon as she leaves Harry, his head lolls back and his eyes shut, but he's still standing. The effect leaves her feeling really uneasy. She steps, without sound, over Ron's body, not even looking at it. She said something Hermione couldn't hear, the dream was entirely silent. She stepped back over Ron's body to Harry, who had just woken and called out to Hermione again, she could read her name on his lips. But she couldn't go to him and so he chose Ginny, and he just left her there, unable to move. When she looked down to see what had been holding her back from going to Harry, she saw hand on her ankle.

But what hand was it? And whose hand had it been? Why would anyone try to hold her back from going to her best friend in the entire world? One of the only people she had left in her life? She didn't know. Distracted, Hermione took a public exit out of the Ministry. It was the only way she knew how to get where she might be going, after all. She swore she caught a shock of red hair over the heads of everyone else walking through the main lobby. She thanked her lucky stars that she was leaving early, that whoever it might have been didn't have a chance to catch up with her and, god forbid, talk to her or anything...

She walked out the door of a public restroom and turned left. She knew her way from Harry's, and she knew her way from Harry's to here. She didn't want to walk all the way back, but couldn't wait for a taxi, even if one could be half a block away. She turned in the other direction, walking quickly without reason. She had to get out of there, she had to leave, that last nightmare had left her with a feeling of absolute panic. She had to see him, somehow. This was not right.

Half an hour later Hermione looked up. She was not fully aware of the time that had passed since she'd walked out the doors, and she was a little surprised to find herself here. The biting breeze fluttered around the hem of her maroon dress in the wind, tickling the tops of her calves. The short, soft sleeves and large scarf were not enough to keep the cold out. She ignored them.

_Rolling Knolls Cemetery_

The words were forged from steel, painted black along with curls and a steel gate, waist-high, surrounding the field. It was on the edge of town, down what would look to Muggles like a grassy alleyway. Two minutes down that alley would land a witch or wizard here, the only known wizarding cemetery in Britain. She watched her hand move towards the gate, but was not conscious of telling it to do so, and pushed it open, stepping inside. She knew this next path like the back over her hand. Almost a half-mile towards the back, then a short turn south, up sixteen rows, a turn east, and nine plots over. She walked the route over and over in her head as she walked it once in reality, unable to clear images from her mind.

There he was, laying on the ground again. His body twisted into ways it shouldn't be. Carried roughly over Kingsley's shoulder, laid at her feet. His hair, which was almost in his eyes again, brushed the bridge of his long, thin nose in the wind.

Southbound. One, two, three. There he was again, leaning against a grave marker, arms crossed, a smile on his face like she'd seen so many times before. Four, five, six, seven, eight. The hard look in his eyes in the moment before he kissed her, before running for their lives like they had so many times. Nine, ten. The night he left her and Harry in the forest, and she had felt that all was lost. She knew it could be done without Ron, it was possible, but she had never had to actually think it might happen until he was already gone. Eleven, twelve, thirteen rows. The fleeting look on his face when he'd first seen her at the Yule Ball. Admiration, even love, maybe. And jealousy - he couldn't stand seeing her with Viktor. Fourteen, fifteen. The look of sheer panic on his face when he caught the attention of her attacker in the final battle, saving her life and effectively ending his own. Sixteen. East.

Here some of the plots were full, some empty. Wizarding cemeteries operated differently from muggle ones, she'd learned. Plots weren't reserved near death, but at the very moment of birth. When your name was written, at your birth, your plot was created and saved for your death. It was gruesome, in some ways, but she could see the reasoning behind it. Much of the wizarding community had a sort of 'full circle' belief about their lives. They were born, and they would live a long while and do things normal muggles couldn't do, and they would procreate and marry and raise more magical folk, and then they would die, and their offspring would join them later down the line.

She walked past the plots for Molly and Arthur, both empty. Birth dates and names were engraved already, a death date would come later. Next came Bill, empty. Charlie, empty. George, empty. Fred - this one had a date, like his brother. On the other end of the Row, it would start with Ginny, then Percy, then... then she knew who. Where she was headed. She fell to her knees at the site of it, nearly dragging herself to the place where he lay.

_Ronald Bilius Weasley  
_ _1 March 1980 - 2 May 1998  
_ _Friend, Son, Brother, Hero_

They had left out 'confidante'. They had left out 'soulmate' or maybe 'boyfriend' or something less silly. They had left out 'one who returns, even when he leaves' or 'the only person who could cheer her up, no matter what' or 'the only person whose disgusting habits were ignored simply because he was loved'. They'd had no room to explain what he'd really meant to her, really meant to all of them. The youngest brother, the Keeper, the nervous one. Always feeling like second best - except, in the end, he'd sacrificed more than most. He'd sacrificed his own life to save her.

She hadn't been able to face the Weasleys after the war. They had lost two sons that night, and one of them had died saving her. How noble of him, of course, but would a mother feel the same when her child was dead and gone? Would Molly ever forgive her? She'd been so, so proud of him and everything he'd done. In more ways than one, he'd done more than all of his brothers combined. He had admitted his faults, he'd come back, he'd finally confessed his love, he'd helped Harry Potter defeat the Dark Lord, ensuring peace and safety for the entire world. No brother could compete with that. But he hadn't had a single moment to bask in that fact. He'd sacrificed himself, doing just one last good deed before his untimely death.

Tears fell freely now, watering the grass that covered his grave. She saw no point to sitting up and even less to standing or trying to leave. This was as close as she got to him - a few feet away from his remains, his name carved into stone. This was all that was left of him...

A frightening image flickered into Hermione's mind - her own body, dead and decomposing beside his in the ground. If they'd have married, the Weasley row would expand and add her own next to it. It could have happened. She could have been down there, eventually, and...

Worms, worms everywhere. And dirt. And his hair, which would have continued growing, even in death, growing right over his eyes and nose until he couldn't see the inside of wherever he was.

She woke from these images like a jolt. A daydream. She'd just had a fully-fledged daydream. She'd never seen images this clear or disturbing in her waking hours, and this had come as a nasty shock. She wants to get out but can't bring herself to move away from him. She would never willingly separate herself from him, not this way or any other way. She almost unconsciously slid her hand into her back pocket, pulling out the mobile phone and flipping it open. There were two numbers. She called the first one it landed on, bringing it to her ear.

"Hermione?"

"It's so unclean. I can't get these images out of my head. I'm dying too, and there's dirt everywhere. I'm dead. I'm down there with him."

"Hermione, what are you talking about? Is this about Ron?"

"Yes. I'm here with him. I came to... I don't know. I saw myself dead and now I can't get it out. I can't clean that out of my mind, like the nightmares, those replace themselves. But everywhere I look I see myself beside him and I..."

"Hermione, are you alright?"

She couldn't answer. Who knew? Who knew if she were alright? That awful therapist hadn't, her boss might not know, none of her old friends knew. She herself didn't know if she was alright. But Ron wasn't. And that's why she'd come here. Even when he was dead and in the ground, the ultimate feeling that he was not alright had drawn her here.

"Stay where you are. I'm coming for you. Don't go anywhere." The line clicked off and she was relieved, less at the fact that the line was off and more that someone was coming to pull her out of here. This was not right. And she knew, then, who would know if she were not alright. She herself would know if something was wrong, and indeed it was.

* * *

He'd never liked cemeteries. He'd seen bodies, and they had always left him feeling uneasy, no matter how many he came across. There were often bodies in the manor, being violated or torn apart in any manner his father and friends pleased. They desecrated human beings, and for what? For what purpose? They were already dead, they'd already done all they could do. Why make it worse? He realized shortly after his relocation that it had been for _fun_. It had nearly made him lose his dinner then, and just thinking about it now made his stomach roll. Down this alley was an arching black painted sign that lead people into a dauntingly large cemetery filled with most of the bodies of the wizarding families in Britain. It was the only place he could think of, and when he'd seen the gate open and footsteps dragging themselves toward the back, he followed.

He found her shortly after, sprawled out on her side. Her work robes were looped around the strap of her bag, which lay some two or three plots down. Her bottom arm was curled under her awkwardly, supporting her head, which tilted down in the direction of the grave she lay on. Ron's. He knew it had to be his, but he had almost wanted it to be anyone else's. This can't have been easy for her.

Her legs shot out in two different directions, and her eyes were closed. A deep red dress fell sharply around the curve of her shoulders and back, the little angle where her hip bone now jutted out with her leg. The hem of her dress was crumpled just up above her knees, tucked between them in front, wrinkled. Her hair, potion wearing off in the humidity, fell over half her face and shoulder as if someone had placed it there haphazardly. There were bits of dirt in the fingernails of her free hand, which laid flat down on the earth next to her.

The scene struck him, hard. He had realized that Hermione was in a bad place, but he hadn't expected it to be this bad. The rolling feeling in his stomach returned. This was someone who wasn't just hurting, wasn't just struggling, she was being pulled down from below, almost literally, and had been letting herself be dragged down into the dirt. This was someone who was very, very near to giving up entirely. She'd lost any semblance of friends, her family, the childhood friend who had just confessed the reciprocation of feelings. She was losing her only other friend, Harry, to a girlfriend who didn't appreciate Hermione's existence. He saw now that her phone was out, hovering on one of only two entries on the list - his, and Harry's. He was thankful that she'd pressed his name for her call, otherwise she could have been here ages, or Harry could have picked her up and she'd have been missing from work and he'd have had no idea where she was.

He had gotten the call in the middle of an experiment. Getting a call at all was strange for him, and stranger so in the middle of the day from Hermione, who was supposed to be a few floors up and working at the same time. When she'd started babbling about feeling unclean and not knowing how to get things out of her head, he knew she might have finally lost it. He sent a memo to her boss, who said she'd excused herself early and set out. He knew from her call - 'I'm down here with him' - that she must have gone to his graveside. And he found her here, sprawled hopelessly on top of it, waiting.

"Hermione?"

There was no answer.

"Hermione Granger, you called me and I left work immediately. What's going on?"

She stirred, turning her head towards him. "I called you?"

"Yes."

"I just... I didn't know who to call. Or who I was calling."

"I can tell. Are you alright?"

"I think... I think everything just got to me. And I had a daydream, a really vivid one. It's still in my head, oh god I can't get it out... but I can't do anything about it, can I?"

Her makeup was just slightly smeared around her eyes, her hair unkempt. "No, you can't. Well, you can get up off the ground." He offered her his hand, and she looked at it a moment before ignoring it and pushing herself to a standing position. She brushed herself off slightly, avoiding eye contact and any talk for at least two minutes. Draco retracted a tan hand with tiny fair hairs at the knuckles that he hardly believed could be his. He'd offered her a hand up. If that wasn't symbolic, he didn't know what was. And she'd refused it - that was just her being stubborn, of course.

"Are you hungry?"

She looked him in the eye, finally nodded. "Starved. I couldn't eat breakfast. Ginny was in the kitchen and I just couldn't bring myself to go in..."

"We'll stop and get something. I don't want you at Harry's. I don't trust you there."

"Where, then?"

"I'll drop you off at my flat. I've got a time-sensitive experiment back at work, so I'll have to leave you there until I can come back. My wards will let me know if you try and leave. Let's go."

She shuffled the few steps to her bag, picking it up, and wobbled. Draco would have been disgusted with the sight in front of him, but Ben walked forward, offering his arm this time. "You look like you could use this."

She bowed her head, but wound her hand around his arm and locked it there. Something about it felt like a tiny triumph, but he pushed it out of his head. She'd accepted his help, was all, and he was glad for it. he lead her back over a hill and down the last path out the gate, turning to shut it behind them as they left. A short, silent walk down the alley had Hermione in tears, turning twice to look back towards the cemetery - which, at that point, had vanished from view.

His car was parked out front. He'd rushed home after leaving work to get it, knowing a taxi might be a bad idea. He knew back streets well and had maneuvered himself to her location in mere minutes. He opened her passenger door for her and shut it behind her, keeping her safe inside. He walked quickly around to his own door, opened it, and had the car started before he was fully sitting. She had pulled a leg up under here, hugging her knee and getting dirt on his seats. He would have to get it cleaned...

He stopped for Thai, got her a piping hot container of a soup she'd mentioned liking, and a small order of something with noodles and pork. It took him a few minutes to get home, drop her and the food off, and get her successfully in the door.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" She didn't look at him, but her noise made her think she might be listening.

"I'll be back. Relax, don't sleep. I don't want you having nightmares right now. I'll be just a few hours, six at most. Cook something if you get hungry again before I get home, the pantry is stocked with usuals and a few good things. When I get home we'll talk."

"Okay."

He stepped towards her again, letting out a sigh. "I've charmed my wards to alert me if you leave. Please don't. I'd like to... someone needs to look after you right now. I know you'll want some time to yourself or something, so I figured it was best to keep you here rather than drop you off at Harry's where Ginny might show up. Is that okay?"

She nodded, turning in place and walking until she dropped onto his couch, resting her head on a red round pillow.

He didn't feel right leaving her like this. Why? What was holding him back? He turned and locked the door behind him, heading back towards work. He could already feel that it was going to be a long day. His work from earlier that morning had gone horribly wrong, and he'd just started over when he'd gotten her call. The entire process lasted about four hours, but could take up to five depending on certain variables and conditions. He was so put off by the first failure that he had been near giving up. But if the weeping heap on his couch was what giving up looked like, he knew he couldn't do that. He had a purpose, something he'd never had before. And as frustrating as his own purpose was for him, he wouldn't stop working, one way or another, until it was done.

* * *

When he returned home, taking care to be noisy while opening the door and not scare her, his entire flat smelled divine. He heard her humming to herself in the kitchen and shouted his welcome while he walked into his bedroom, showered, and changed. The smell permeated the very walls of his dwelling. What had she been cooking in there? He smelled garlic and onions and bacon and something else he couldn't put his nose on...

He walked into the kitchen to find her stirring sauce, a large bowl of pasta already on the table. He'd intended to use that bunch two nights later for a dinner, but decided not to tell her this. It could be replaced easily.

"Cooking something up?"

"It was Ron's favorite. Molly made it best, though she taught me how a year or two ago. Cream sauce, bacon, onions, garlic, fresh ground pepper, shallots, and a bit of mustard powder. Gives it a little something different. I, frankly, can't really taste it, but Ron always says he can. Said. Could."

When all was finished she served them each a small bowl at the table, announcing that she'd return home to Harry's shortly after.

It was good, as he'd expected. But why did his stomach mash around as he ate it? Surely it wasn't the ingredients, it was just a tweaked carbonara recipe, and his ingredients were always pretty fresh. Was it that it had been Ron's? That she had made it because she was thinking of him? He wanted to help her get over this, but he felt pretty awful about it now that she'd cooked Ron's favorite meal in his own kitchen.

He knew what had happened. Ron had died protecting her. A Death Eater and a pair of very strong killing curses. Nobody could have survived that. His heart stopped before she could even say goodbye. There was no tearful holding his head and telling him she loved him. He was just... dead. He remembered seeing her shortly after this, being nearly dragged out of a corridor by a few members of the Order of the Phoenix. Ron's body was brought behind her, and she kept reaching for it, like she might be able to help him. He'd seen Lavender Brown crying later in that same hallway, confessing to her friends that Ron had come to her when they'd entered the castle that night and told her he missed her. She'd made it sound like Ron had wanted to be with her, but hadn't that contradicted what he'd just seen? That Ron had spent his last moments protecting Hermione, whom he may have loved? It wasn't Draco's business, after all.

Before he could think any more on whether or not it was his business now, Hermione retched and vomited off the side of the table. It hit the wood floors with a splat, splashing back up onto the deep gray wall and white floorboards, along with the legs of the chair beside hers. He thought he might have felt a drop land near the hem of his jeans. He sighed, staring at her while she heaved again, tears streaming down her face and into the puddle that now lay under her. When, after a moment, it seemed like she'd stopped he cleared his throat.

"Draco, I'm so sorry. I just couldn't... I meant to..."

"Don't worry about it. I'm a wizard, I can clean it up in a flick of the wrist." He did just that, pulling it from his sleeve and scourgifying the living hell out of the wall with a twist. "But you need a shower. Leave your dress on the counter, I'll have it taken care of. I should have a pair of flannel pants or something you can wear home in the mean time. I'll call a cab. Walk straight through that door and to the door on the left on the left hand wall. That's the bathroom. There are towels under the sink."

She nodded, hobbling off in the direction he pointed, and he sighed as the door closed behind her. Another flick of his wand cleared up the bits she'd dropped on her way across the living room. She'd emptied her stomach. He lit a candle on a table near the dining room to help the smell and sat to wait. He heard the water turn on, smelled the woodsy smell of his soap and shampoo, and heard the water turn off. After a loudly-shut cabinet door and a few silent minutes, the door cracked open and she stepped out wrapped in one of the soft white robes he kept hanging on the back of his bathroom door. He had to resist the urge to laugh - it dwarfed her, very nearly skimming her ankles. Her hair, for the first time since he'd seen her recently, was not potioned down and was back to its natural state, curling wildly in every direction.

"Don't laugh. I feel awful."

"It's a challenge. You look like a child in that thing."

"These feel like the robes from the hotel."

"They are."

"And you have four?"

"I've nicked three of them."

"Why? You can afford to buy one."

"So can they. It's the fun of the thing. Your hair..."

"Isn't potioned. I know. I haven't seen it like this in months."

"It's..."

"Are you going to make fun of me?"

"I wish I could. But honestly, it's nice to see. The potion looks too... I don't know. This looks more fitting. The big hair is nice."

"Don't joke around."

"I'm not. Maybe that's why I always noticed it, you know? It's natural. Even in school, most girls slicked their hair down if they could, but you never really tried that. It's very Hermione."

She rolled her eyes. "I need something to wear."

Her comment suddenly made him very aware of the fact that she was in a bathrobe, and wasn't likely wearing her messy dress under it.

"Right. Let me... here."

He got up and walked past her into the bedroom, pulling out a drawer of things. Inside was half a load of laundry that had shrunk when he'd accidently dried them too hot the first time he'd done laundry here. He pulled out a pair of emerald green plaid flannel pants and a black shirt and left the room again. When she emerged a moment later, the pants tied tightly enough to stay on her hips and the shirt hanging just at that point, he smiled. She would be comfortable, at least, on her drive to Harry's. He distinctly remembered buying those pants because they were soft and Slytherin green, one last little piece of Draco Malfoy to go with the grey eyes he'd kept.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded with enthusiasm. "I'm fine. I just... I think I couldn't handle it. I had a nightmare today during experimentation, it set me off. John, my supervisor, let me watch his memory of the moment and of the woman reading my aura. It was... unsettling. I think I just got rid of whatever was making me feel that way though. I just... thanks."

"Not a problem. The cab's already downstairs. I'd drive you, but I'm feeling a little ill myself after work today."

She nodded. "I'll go then. And I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Bright and early."

* * *

She shut the door behind her at Harry's, suddenly exhausted. The hot shower at Ben's and the flannel had left her feeling almost too cozy in the taxi - she'd almost fallen asleep on the fifteen minute ride to Harry's. When she arrived, she found the place mercifully empty except for a note on the table in the sitting room.

_H-_

_Off to the Burrow for the night. Gin had a rough day at school and wanted to stay there. Ring me if you need anything._

_H_

H and H. It had become almost a joke between them, in years past. She was immediately relieved to see that neither of them would be home tonight. While she _had_ been looking forward to seeing Harry after her experience that afternoon, she wasn't ready to tell him what had happened and was perfectly fine with an empty place for the night. She had a feeling her nightmares would be especially bad, and didn't want to wake anyone with her screaming.


	10. Chapter 10

_Dirt. The composition alone was astounding. In this dream, she could tell where she was by what she saw in it - the wetness meant she was either near water or it had rained recently. There were bits of green it in, plants that had been taken in and fed the soil as the soil had fed the plants. Somewhere green. There were tree roots all around, one poking into the side of her leg. She might be in a forest. There were worms, always worms, expanding and contracting and moving in that strange sort of way they moved. There was a movement near her hand, though not a worm. This one belonged to Ron, she knew the feel of it implicitly. His fingers, long and slim, ending in slightly rough pads on his fingers. His hand clasped around hers tightly. There was another movement around her other hand - someone else reaching out for her. It was Harry's hand - shorter, smoother, the palm squashier. Anyone's was, next to Ron's thin hands.  
_

_Something was very wrong. There was a pull towards her left hand, where Harry's now clutched hers tightly. She was being dragged down through the dirt, and it was going up her nose and into her eyes. She was pulling on Ron's hand, trying to bring him with her, to keep them all together, but he wouldn't budge. He was stuck, and Hermione was being stretched in two, trying to keep a hold on each of her boys. A final jerk from Harry's side forced her to release her hold on Ron's hand, even as she reached grasping for it she was pulled out of the ground. She realized in a flash that they'd all been facing downwards under the ground. She hadn't been pulled down, she'd been pulled up. She lay limp on the ground as Harry's hand was shook from hers, his body flailing wildly. She looked up to see Ginny, shaking Hermione off._

_"His isn't your hand to hold. It's mine." She walked off, shrinking until she was normal size, dragging Harry's body along beside her. She wanted to crawl back into the warm ground next to Ron, to grab his hand again, to live out her days there and rot with him, but before she could take another step there was a hand grabbing her leg again, and the world was spinning but she couldn't focus on who the hand belonged to, and..._

She sat bolt up on the futon, panting hard. She had fallen asleep watching a film on Harry's tv, in the clothes Draco - Ben - had lent her. The sun was already in the sky, signaling that it was time for Hermione to wake after all. She almost swore she could feel fingers grasping her ankle, even now, but she shook the thought from her head, heading into the bathroom to shower. When she emerged, feeling slightly better and infinitely warmer, she toweled her hair out and reached for the bottle of potion in the cabinet. Her fingers closed around it, then loosened. Why was she doing this? When had using potions on her hair become something she did? She'd never cared what anyone thought of her or her hair. She was worth more than that.

She dressed, folding the pants and shirt of Ben's and tucking them into her bag. It felt strange, having something of his. She was outright thankful that neither Harry or Ginny had been at the flat that nigh three weeks ago to see her walking in the door like that. Ginny would have been outright cruel, likely, and Harry might have made his own comments. She wished she could tell him something, anything other than the truth to make him understand why she acted like she did and what sort of friendship she had with Ben, but she still hadn't thought of anything. Harry had suggested that he thought they were friends, then dating, then carrying on a secret affair of some sort, all in jest, but hadn't been quite right with any of it.

Minutes later she walked in the door with the gleaming brass number twenty-six attached in the center. The door was unlocked, as was customary, and she smelled an especially strong aroma of coffee as she stepped in the door.

"Ben?"

"In the kitchen."

She stepped around the corner to see him leaning his back against the counter, one hand supporting him while one hand wrapped around a mug.

"I brought back your pants... sorry it took a few weeks, I kept forgetting to wash them."

"They're too small. Couldn't you tell? Wouldn't have fit me if I tried."

"You can charm them, you know. Aren't you the one who just made the sarcastic wizard comment last night?"

"That's true. But I don't need them back, really. Keep them."

She rolled her eyes, pouring herself some coffee. When she looked back at him, he was staring curiously right over her head. She looked behind her but saw a blank expanse of wall.

"Something interesting?"

"Your hair."

Right. She hadn't done it this morning. "What about?"

"No potions."

Hermione could feel her face flushing. It wasn't that she'd stopped doing her hair because of what he'd said. It was only partially fueled by what he'd said. But after all, what he'd said _had_ been positive, and had been the final straw. She attempted a scowl that resulted in being half-smile. She'd kept trying to do it for a week or two after that night, but finally gave in a week ago. He'd finally noticed.

"For your information, I hated doing my hair."

"Then why did you do it?"

"It took up some of my time. And it... made people maybe think I was a little more put together than I actually am. Was."

"Was?"

"I'm putting myself back together."

She hadn't expected the words to mean what they had, but it was true. He saved her from embarrassment by checking his watch. "Fifteen minutes. Shall we? I've got a project waiting with my name on it."

It was only on the way through the Floo, and in his few moments alone on the other side, that Hermione missed a crucial moment in Draco's mind. He realized that the 'project waiting with his name on it' had been a bad comment, given her circumstances. And, secondly, that he knew one other person, quite well now, that maybe knew a little bit about what he was feeling like.

* * *

She was late. This was unusual. Two minutes past their usual meeting time, she burst through the doorway, panting.

"Sorry, sorry I'm late, I woke up almost an hour later than I should have, and I had a report that had to be finished by this afternoon..." She saw the blood on his shirt this time, not just a spatter but a small stream running from his shoulder to his rist, twisting and dipping into the hollow space in his elbow.

"Not a problem. Coffee?"

"Chai. Sure..." She averted her eyes, and he noticed.

They took the Floo back to his flat so he could change and to avoid running into anyone on their way out, and then began the stroll to the Wardrobe. It had become almost a joke between them, a joke that sometimes included a chuckle from Bernard as he fixed their drinks behind the counter. _Stalking me again? Of course._

"Bad day at work? Fighting werewolves?"

"Close, just battling a few demons..." He smirked at this clever joke of his. Demons. Yeah, right. Maybe his own. "I'd love to tell you more but... I'm just not ready. If you decide to stop trusting me and not be friends anymore, I'd have no one to tell."

"You've got no one to tell now. And if you haven't forgotten, you're the one person I talk to. That works both ways now."

They sat in a small corner by the window in squashy chairs that cornered each other. November's weather had been especially awful, and they'd thought it couldn't get much wetter than October had been. She'd been at the ministry nearly two months now, and her work had become routine. She was starting to get really good at what she was doing. Hermione sipped her drink, clearly deep in thought. He watched her for a moment, pushing her hair back out of her eyes, and knew she was thinking about her own work. Even outside of the ministry building, it consumed her thoughts. He could see why - it was personal. He knew the feeling. She just wanted to fix herself and go back to who she used to be. While that feeling wasn't one he prided himself in, no person could change as drastically as he did and not sometimes yearn for the gleaming staircases and personal chef in his childhood home. His mother, too, hadn't been all bad. They all missed something. She missed her friends, being surrounded by people who loved and cared about her. And he... well, some sick part of him missed being surrounded by people who really didn't care about him at all.

They sat in silence this way for quite some time before thunder rolled through the heavens outside, nearly shaking the shabby building and jolting them both back into present time.

"Oh! Thunder always frightens me, but... oh, you know." Hermione had her brows raised, but lowered them and batted a hand, breaking eye contact. "You know."

"Not really. I never heard it in the manor. I ever only heard it at school, and haven't ever felt it like that."

"Thunder is great, I think. I don't mind the bad weather - I kind of like it, really. Nobody guilting me or telling me how wonderful the world is and to get outside. I don't care for bright sun, not really. I'll tolerate it on holiday, but I'm still not a fan."

"Rain is awful. Mud gets everywhere, it gets my car filthy."

She shook her head, smiling. "Maybe one day you'll understand it. It's really lovely, when you take it for what it is."

"Don't see how. I've got to get home, I'm feeling a little unwell. Maybe it's the rain." He smirked. "You could come by for dinner, or...?"

"I'd better not. Harry's home and Ginny's not, I like spending good time with him when I can. Plus it's getting dark already and I don't want to have to take a cab."

"You've got an umbrella?"

"I shrank one, yes. In my bag."

He stood, sliding his coat back on. His face remained emotionless, but why was he so bothered that she didn't want to come by for dinner? Come to think of it, it was the second time in two days she'd caused him some sort of disappointment. Why?

"Alright. Just let me know when you get home alright. Oh, there's a sort of luncheon tomorrow, I suppose you may not have been told, it's sort of default for the rest of us... Department of Mysteries, there's a small meeting room and we all get together and talk about how we can't talk about anything and they give us drinks and some food and send us home early."

"So we can talk about how we can't talk about anything? Brilliant."

"It's my best." He smiled, turning and walking out before he could possibly submit either of them to another awful joke.

* * *

"How's your work going?"

"Well, and yours?"

"Not so well. On a scale of one to ten? Probably a three."

"Awful. I hope - whatever it is - gets better!" There was a round of chuckling as two old friends parted and joined other conversations. Hermione stood near a table covered in nice linens tightly clutching a plastic cup of some sort of spiked punch. It was Friday. There was nobody here she'd recognize, but she still found herself clinging to the punch bowl like an offbeat girl in old films. Ben had made his way around the room once or twice, joking lightly and glancing in her direction. She'd made faces at him each time, as if to say 'this is what we consider fun down here?' In truth, she liked it. She liked the group of a hundred or so Department of Ministry workers, most of which were older or quieter and none of which she'd known or gone to school with except, of course, "Ben." He cut off a conversation with an older little man and walked in her direction, helping himself first to a drink - cola with rum - before shaking his head and smiling.

"This is what we get up to down here. We make fun of ourselves. It's sort of an inside joke that we don't even understand."

"This sounds a bit like the brainy, anti-social kids at school..."

"Oh, we're definitely that. We're the brainy, anti-social, forcibly silent ministry workers. And we get the better drinks down here. And sandwiches. Have you had any?"

"No I... I haven't. You've got blood on your hem again."

"Yeah, wish I could have changed before this. You look nice though."

She nearly spit up her drink at the same time he did, though he choked slightly on his. He hadn't even thought it, but he'd said it, and by the grin on her face, he could tell she found it just as funny as he found it mortifying.

"Is that what you think?"

"Oh, shut up."

"I've gone from buck-toothed, bushy-haired, know-it-all Mudblood Granger to _nice_? I'm flattered. I think that's the kindest thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

"Well... whatever."

"These are the shoes, earrings, and bag from that day at the shops, when you got your suit."

"Is it? Oh, it is."

She'd paired the simple white heels, bag, and pearl earrings with a black skirt and white top. She had packed it for the luncheon, knowing she'd wrinkle whatever she slept in at work that day.

"Mhmm."

He leaned against the wall next to her, placing one foot up to steady himself. "Meet anyone else yet?"

"Not quite."

"We can leave at any time. End the week a little early. I'm not going in tomorrow."

"I know, me either. I figure I'll leave soon."

"I'll go with you. I know plenty of people down here, but most of them are at least three times my age. Three. And... I know you couldn't last night, but are you free tonight? I know a little seafood market that might have something worth trying..."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention?"

Ben groaned. "Now we'll never get out of here... best find a seat before they're all taken."

"Oh, let the older ones have them. We're fine here."

He simply stared at her for a moment before refilling his drink. Once everyone was back in place he rejoined her, and they watched the older man at the podium at the front of the room.

"Thank you, thank you. I'd like to welcome you all back. I know we missed last month's meeting, but we've got twice as many people here as usual, so I think somehow that works. Anyone studying Time? Any thoughts?" The room was silent, and the man grinned, almost to himself. "Exactly. No speaking!" The group laughed, and even Hermione was chuckling a bit. The joke was at unusually silly proportions, but that helped keep the edge off.

"I'd like to start on, unfortunately a more somber note. One of our own, John Holmes, passed three weeks ago on the job. He worked for our department for fifty years as of last march, and has made many friends and colleagues in his time here. He was here longer even than myself! To John."

A number of guests raised their plastic cups in respect. Hermione did, and Draco watched her sip the drink inside in silent salute of a man she'd never known. That was the thing about her, she was just so _good_. It would never have occurred to him to do it just out of respect.

The speaker went on, but Hermione's attention did not turn from the drink in her hand. She raised her second hand to wrap around the other half, her head bent low. Was something... something was wrong. She was crying.

"Do you... want to leave?"

"Immediately. Yes."

"This way."

He lead her quickly around the drink table and through a back door into a dark hallway. He fumbled for the switch for nearly a minute before remembering his wand, and brought the hallway into bright white light. She had stopped crying, and instead seemed to be attempting to hide the fact that it had ever happened.

"Are you alright?"

There were panels back here controlling air vents and lighting and water movement, and it was the least pretty room in the entire ministry building, just flat gray metal and steam.

"I just started thinking, you know, about the man who died. He had a family, didn't he?"

"He did. I met him once."

"And now he's... he's just gone, and with no explanation."

"He's got an explanation. He inhaled toxic fumes. Didn't properly ventilate."

She stayed quiet for a moment before draining her cup and leaning against the wall. "Maybe dinner would be nice."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I don't think I could... Ginny will be there and..."

"Don't say another word. We'll pick something up." He felt a tickle in his throat and quickly pulled a napkin out of his pants pocket. He'd been smart to grab one from the table, or he'd have coughed in his hand and Hermione could have seen anything. He coughed, nearly choking a little on what came up, and folded it neatly, sticking it back in the pocket. It had told him one thing - it was getting worse. Much worse.

* * *

"Your... parents. I'm guessing that's what all that was about earlier."

"Yes."

He sighed, clutching at his hair. For someone so intelligent, she was rather oblivious to the fact that he was trying to talk to her. Dinner had been a silent affair so far, he'd picked up fish and a salad and they'd eaten quickly, the only noises coming from their silverware on plates or the clink of a juice glass.

"What happened to them?"

"That's the worst part. I don't know. I... before the war started, before Harry and Ron and I set off to do what we had to do... I suppose you know about the Horcruxes, of course."

"I do."

"Well, before that, I knew that if things were to go wrong... that if something happened, Voldemort would go after my parents. I used a memory-charm on them. I had them convinced that they'd never had a daughter at all. That their greatest ambition was to move to Australia and start a dental practice there. I haven't seen or heard from them since."

"And you're afraid that something happened?"

"Even though I changed their names, everything, yeah. I tried looking for them for a few weeks after the war but couldn't find them under any of the names I could think of - my mother's maiden name, the name I'd given them, Granger, anything. I couldn't find a trace."

"But if you didn't find anything, at least you didn't find anything bad."

She put down her fork and looked at him for a moment, eyes narrowed. "Yeah."

"So, at least you didn't find an obituary. So they could be anywhere in the world doing anything at all. Maybe they didn't move to Australia. Sydney's expensive. Maybe they did the sensible thing and looked elsewhere."

"You know, I hate to say you're right, but I think you just made a guess based on my parents better than I could have. You know them better than I do, then..."

"No, I just know you."

She nodded, though reluctantly. "I suppose you do."

"I could be right, you know. It's not just some fantasy. In fact, I probably am. You may be the brightest witch of our age, but somebody had to be number two at Hogwarts."

It took everything in her to not roll her eyes. He never missed an opportunity to measure up to her...

"I suppose you could be. It's getting late... I should get home."

"It's ten already, wow."

The pair had spent the rest of the afternoon walking in almost silence from location to location, picking up ingredients for things and running errands. By the time they started dinner it was dark, and she hadn't wanted to leave straightaway. She'd soon find out this wasn't just a nagging feeling, but truth.

* * *

"Harry? I'm home. I, uh, stopped off at Ben's for dinner. We had a luncheon at work today, and..." She looked up from the keys in the door to see Ginny, arms folded and legs stiff.

"Oh. Hi."

"It's ten at night."

"I'm aware..."

"What if Harry had been sleeping?" Ginny spit her words like venom, making Hermione physically duck back.

"Harry never sleeps before midnight. Habit leftover from the war."

"I think more like a habit _you've_ gotten him into."

"What are you talking about? I don't control when Harry gets to sleep, Gin..." She set her bag down on the futon and sat down beside it, never taking her eyes off her old friend. "And I don't know what this is about, but Harry said you wouldn't be here tonight."

"Oh, is _that_ why you called out to him when you came home? Looking for my boyfriend?"

"My best friend, as well." Hermione immediately felt herself getting defensive. She hadn't felt this irritated in a long, long time...

"He's your roommate. And to be honest, we think you've overstayed your welcome."

"We?"

"Harry and I. We _were_ having dinner tonight, alone. It was a date. But he got called off to work around eight and hasn't gotten back yet."

"I'm sorry? I don't know what to tell you... that happens, to Aurors... crime and dark wizards don't operate in broad daylight, typically." Hermione had nearly had enough. Harry was her best friend, and whatever was wrong with Ginny wasn't her problem and didn't warrant this kind of treatment.

Ginny made a sound between a grunt and a growl, turning on Hermione. "I don't need your sarcasm, thanks! I don't even know why you're here!"

At this, Hermione raised a brow. " _You_ don't know why _I'm_ here? I _live_ here. You don't. What's this about, Gin? I thought we were friends, we've been friends for years..." She lowered her head, looking at her hands folded in her lap.

"Oh, we were. We haven't been friends in a long time, I think you know that too." Ginny finally uncrossed her arms, pacing the room with wild swoops of her hands.

"I can't imagine why. Even with how you're treating me right now." Hermione had to take a deep breath to keep it all in, and...

Ginny started. "We haven't been friends since you took Harry away from me during the war."

Hermione was at once torn between the compulsion to laugh and to think Ginny had finally lost her mind. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. He and I were clearly together in sixth year. And he clearly intended to keep seeing me, but you insisted on going on this grand adventure, just the two of you, in to the forest..."

"The two of us? Have you forgotten your brother was there? And that, in reality instead of wherever you're living, that he was the one who first mentioned that he and I follow Harry? He couldn't have possibly stayed behind! Dumbledore left him a task that earned you _your freedom_ if you don't know that yet. We were all on the same side, why are you acting like there was... like there was a whole other war you were fighting?!"

"Because there was!"

"Gin, your brother, and Harry and I, went into the forest and into cities for months at a time without food or proper shelter at times. Your brother left and then came back. It was hard enough feeding and taking care of the three of us, and you were underage!"

Ginny huffed, shaking her head. "You know, if you were so bloody noble and right and good, why hasn't anyone bothered helping you yet? Nobody wanted to. You're living on Harry's couch and you're barely employed and you have no friends... honestly, Ron would be disgusted if he could see you today."

Hermione thought of Ron's face, of the last time they'd ever fought. He'd just come back from leaving her and Harry in the forest, and she was so mad that he'd left in the first place, but so relieved he'd come back... even then, he wasn't mad at her. He rarely was. He'd loved her. _Loved_ her. And Ginny had just taken things too far.

"Would he? Would your brother be disgusted with me? Let's take a step back here, Ginny Weasley, and see what I've done in the past year." She stood, nearly toe to toe with Ginny.

"Who fought on the front lines at Hogwarts, on the streets of London? Who protected your brother and your boyfriend more times than either of them could count? Who _killed_ Death Eaters to save innocent people like yourself? I _killed_ someone, Ginny! And while I did it in the name of good, I've done something to my heart and my soul that you'll never have to do! I sacrificed a quiet life with my parents on the run so that you could have three meals a day and a warm bed at Hogwarts, so that you could continue your education and visit Harry - who isn't dead partially because of _me_ , by the way - and you think he should be ashamed of me?"

Ginny said nothing, but did not back away. Hermione took this as encouragement, though it was not meant as such.

"Gin, we starved - I starved! - out there for weeks at a time while you were choosing between puddings at dinner."

"I got cursed too, Hermione. I suffered."

"You got the cruciatus curse used on you twice. You told me yourself and I congratulated you for being so brave. I traveled the length of the country and back again, we suffered illness, splinching - which I saved your brothers life from, by the by - and, and... and these nightmares! Do you know what this is like, not being able to stand seeing any of my old friends anymore? Because I've seen them dying and falling apart and _burning in front of me_? No. Ron wouldn't be ashamed if he saw me now, he wouldn't. You have no idea what that's like, to feel like a burden on my best friend. To feel like a burden to you, and maybe I have been, but I'm not the only one mooching off Harry's money and hospitality. If you've forgotten, Ginny, let me remind you: you don't live here.

But do you want to know what I'm doing? I'm working. I've got myself a really rare full-time job making enough to get my own place in a month or two. I'm doing something about my life besides bitching about the only cause I can see to anyone who will listen."

Ginny scoffed. "Complaining? I don't..."

"You do! Harry says it himself. You whine about _everything_ , Ginny, even the things handed right to you. You're so selfish! And you want to know? You want to know what I think?"

Ginny shook her head slightly, as if to say she didn't. She'd had enough with being yelled at, with someone finally not being soft with her.

"Too bad. You know what I think? About you turning your back on someone who has always considered you a friend and who has fought, personally, for you. I am out there making things better for you and I both, and you're complaining about me trying to make myself better. I think Ron would be disgusted with _you_ , and I think Harry should be too."

She reached for her wand in her bag and retrieved her small duffle from the coat closet, magicking things into it in haste. She realized before she was even doing it that she was packing up everything she owned. She would not stay here tonight, not ever again if she could help it. If this was how she'd be treated, by Ginny, Harry could have her.

Ginny was fuming, her freckled skin turning as red as her hair. "Get out! I'm calling Harry now and telling him to tell you to leave! He'll hear everything you said, I'll make sure of it, and see where your _best friend_ is then!" **  
**

"Oh, you don't have to tell me twice! Clearly, I'm already packing. Harry can have you, if this is the way it's going to be. _Took Harry from you..._ it's sick, all of it." She closed her back, wrenching the door open and taking one last look at Ginny.

"I hope your life is everything you've dreamed of with me out of it, but good luck getting that to happen when Harry hears you've chased off his best friend." She shut the door behind her, reaching back into her purse for her phone. She dialed the first number in the book, and only waited one ring until he picked up.

"Dr-... Ben?"

"Eleven minutes. I didn't know if I expected it to last that long."

She nearly stopped in her tracks, but merely slowed and then continued walking down the carpeted hallway to the elevator. "What to last how long?"

"You said you were heading straight to bed. I looked up at the light coming out of the flat onto the building next to you. And there was another shadow, too short to be a man. I saw you get close, throw your arms up, flail around..."

"That was Ginny actually, we just got in a fight. A big one. I don't... I don't think I can stay here anymore. Not now, at least."

"I figured as much."

"Can you help me?"

"I haven't left. Weren't you listening? I've been watching the shadows the whole time."

This time she did stop in her tracks. He'd waited? Not just to make sure she got in, but to see what had happened when she walked in? "Right. I'll be down in a sec." She flipped the phone shut and composed herself in the elevator. If that wasn't the definite end of her friendship with the only Weasley she could currently face, she didn't know what else it could be called. She was thankful that Draco had waited, but surprised all the same. The light flickered in the elevator, distracting her from the thought. His car was still idling out front, lights on, wipers trying frantically to clear the rain from the windscreen.

She opened the back door first, tossing her back into the back, then climbed into the front. "I forgot my umbrella inside."

"Best not to return. I'll buy you one tomorrow, let's get you out of here."

With her door closed and the radio restored to a lower volume, they sat in silence for a moment before she realized he was heading towards his flat.

"Where are we going?"

"Home. My... home. I'd get you a room again but there's no _decent_ place I know of that will take a booking this late. Most places that will take one this late are for... ladies of the night."

"Oh. Well. I'm not one of those."

"Not dressed like that you're not." He smirked. Her shirt and skirt had gone wet in the rain, and she folded her arms over her chest.

"Arse."

"You're the one who made me drive all the way back to Harry's flat to get you..." He was nearly outright smiling now, and she almost laughed.

"You were out front! Don't give me that..."

"I was just teasing. Is it... I mean, is it alright with you if you just take the guest bedroom in my flat? If you're not comfortable with it we could try to maybe apparate somewhere that could take you..."

"Actually, that sounds fine. It's... I've been there before. And it might be nice to be around someone right now. God, it's been an _exhausting_ day."

"Emotionally and physically, yeah. Just a long Friday."

"Right. Yeah." Hermione unfolded her arms, reaching into her bag in the back to pull out a face towel and dry herself as best as possible. When they pulled up into his parking spot at his flat a few minutes later, she waited for him to come around and open her door, as he usually insisted. Draco had, of course, been raised with manners, of some sort. He pulled open the door and left her plenty of room, but when she stood she found herself stepping towards him anyway, arms outstretched slightly. Was she doing what she thought she was doing? Could she actually... oh. Yes. She was hugging him.

* * *

He seemed momentarily stunned, the rain falling around them harder than it had yet that night. She was dripping, from her hair to the hem of her skirt, and he didn't quite know what to do. He finally lowered his arm from the car door her her back, and let the other one join it. A _hug_. Right.

She suddenly let go, ducking under on of his arms to retrieve her bag from the back seat. She looked at him as if to say, ' _aren't you coming?'_ and walked towards the doorman, who stood smiling slightly, as if he'd been let in on the secret.

Draco wordlessly closed the door, gaping. What had just happened? Didn't she still not trust him? Didn't he still not trust her? Something along those lines? Or had it been pretense? He hit the button to lock it and set the alarm and followed her into the elevator and then into his flat, still not saying a word.

It had come, perhaps, as more of a shock than it would have any other night. That night in particular had been different. He'd stayed. He had no idea why, really, only that as soon as she'd gotten out of the car he had wanted to call her back in, to listen to the radio or to drive around town until the sun came up. He just wanted to _talk_ to her, all the time. She wasn't just the only person he knew, he was the only person he cared to know at all. He could have met people, hadn't really seen a point. And as soon as she'd come over for dinner that first night, he knew he had found in her a friend. Unfortunately, his head and his heart warred over this term, _friend._ She was that, yes. But one part of him - his heart, of course - wanted them to be more than just friends.

When had this happened? Who had allowed this to happen?

He remembered the day he'd revealed who he was. He'd expected her to storm out and never speak to him again - and he didn't doubt, even now, that he'd deserved that. But she'd only stated her reasons for trusting him when she shouldn't, she'd only ever mentioned the _good_ things he'd done, ever since he'd told her the truth. Why? Because she herself was good, something that he was turning into, somehow. He had known for a while now that he was changing and that he couldn't be alone forever. But he hadn't expected to spend any of his time, really, with her. It had started as a way to help her and then get out and get better. But it had turned into something completely different, entirely against his will...

But who else would dare be around him? He couldn't make friends as Ben. He'd tried once, it hadn't worked well. He didn't know how to make friends. But forcing a mild acquaintance with Hermione Granger, _THAT_ had somehow worked out... for reasons unknown to him. He could see her now, shuffling out of his bedroom in his too big robe, embarrassed that she'd gotten sick all over his flat. Her hair, natural for the first time since he'd seen her recently.

She had disappeared into the bathroom minutes ago and just emerged, a towel wrapped around her hair, dressed in the pair of flannel pants he'd given her and a tee shirt.

"Trying to dry off in the rain is awful..."

Her phone buzzed, drawing her attention as the clock on the wall struck midnight. December First. He watched her, knowing that the call would be from Harry. At last mention, he was the only other person with her mobile number. To his great surprise, she picked it up, flipped it open, and snapped it shut again, effectively hanging up on Harry.

"What was that for?"

"He's just gotten home, from an assignment. Ginny is surely screaming and telling him what an awful person I am and all of the awful things I said to her - all 'enhanced' of course - and how awful awful awful I am and that I should be kicked out immediately. He's either calling to kick me out, which I doubt but is unnecessary since I'm not there anymore, or he's calling to apologize and see what my side of the story is, which is likely but I don't want to do right now."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. I need to shower... Drying off didn't clear out the dirty water. Is that alright, or did you want to?"

For someone who had come out of that flat in such a mess, she sure looked better now. Maybe it was... no, it couldn't be the hug. He barely had known how, it couldn't have been any good. "Yeah - no. I mean, I will later. It's fine. Go. I'll make tea and unpack your things."

She whirled around on her heel and retreated to his room while he pulled her bag into the guest bedroom. Funny, he'd barely set foot in it since he'd started living there. When had he intended to have guests? He supposed, now, it was coming in handy. He opened the clasp on the bag and with a flick of his wand, her things began flying around the room, settling themselves on shelves or folding themselves into drawers. He walked around to make sure everything was unbroken - he was rubbish at common magic sometimes, and hadn't had to move much in his relocation. There was a noise by the bag, and when he went to check it he saw only a photograph, trapped in the corner. He slid his wand back into his sleeve and picked it up, turning it over without a thought.

It was a shot from right after the war. It must have been hours after everyone had been cleared out of Hogwarts, when the press had descended upon everyone who had fought there. Draco himself had left, running off with his parents before changing his mind and hiding out for a few weeks, but Hermione was stuck in the light, front and just off center. Harry, of course, was centered on a little platform, scarred and bleeding but otherwise looking alright. Ginny Weasley had her arms wrapped around him, crying and smiling at the same time. But Harry's gaze wasn't on his girlfriend, it was on Hermione, on the side of the frame, curled in on herself and not looking at anyone. He could see the puffiness of her eyes, her red cheeks, the tears that dripped off her chin and into her pleading hands...

"I don't know why I keep it."

It was his turn to spin then, and see her in the doorway, wrapped once again in his robe. The bottom bits of her own pajama pants stuck out the bottom.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have looked, it's..."

"It was in the Prophet, it's not exactly a secret. There was a lot of talk about it afterwards, too. You can _see_ how Harry wants to go to me but Ginny's... she's almost weighing him down, isn't she? Keeping him where she wants him. That was the saying. I got lucky they didn't come up with too many nasty rumors, since Ron had passed as well and they knew he and I were involved. For the most part, our hearts were left alone. But this... I saw this weeks after, I was using the prophet to pack up my parents things at their old house, you know? And this was the front page, big as ever. And some people may have thought differently about it or not noticed anything at all, but it means something to me. Like, no matter how alone I am and no matter what Ginny's doing or acting like, he still cares about me a lot. So much... and at least I've got that."

He nodded, handing it to her. "Then it's a good thing to keep."

"As much as Ginny likes to pretend we were all just supposed to part ways and not stay together after the war... she's wrong. She may want Harry all to herself, but there's an entire world of people who still want a piece of him. She's got to learn to share."

Draco smirked, turning around. "Tea?"

"Wine?" She asked, curious.

He turned around, grinning. "Look at you. Having a drink to ease your sorrows..."

"And wine just sounds better. Oh, shut up." She followed him into the kitchen, where he poured a very tall pour of red for each of them. He held up his glass in mock salute. "A moment of silence for Ginny Weasley's sanity."

"Here, here." They clinked glasses, and Hermione laughed. As far as she remembered, it was the most she'd laughed in quite some time, and especially with anyone but Harry. It left her feeling a little uneasy, but it wasn't altogether unwelcome.

"He does care, you know." Draco was looking into his wine glass, swirling the contents. "A man in love is a fool. Personal belief, maybe, but I've seen all the evidence. Take Potter. It's a romantic version of the Imperius curse. 'Yes, Dear. Whatever you want, love'. Men are idiots as soon as they start to love." He rolled his eyes, then nearly choked on his sip of wine. Hadn't he just been the one to bring her back and let her sleep in his flat after he'd realized he started feeling things for her?

"Oh, come on. My parents were never that way. They were so much in love, but never foolish. It depends on the person. I think Harry just needed someone to take care of him."

"And you wouldn't?"

"I would have. But his girlfriend wanted to, and it's slightly more her place than mine."

"I suppose."

"You've never been a fool in love, then?"

"I dated Pansy for a very short while - shorter than she made it seem to everyone - but I wouldn't exactly call that love. It was more like tolerance."

"Tolerance! How terrible." She turned, walking into the sitting room and sitting on the couch. He followed, sitting as far from her as possible.

"Well, you have to realize - you have already realized, really - that I was changing, even then. That I didn't see things the same way I used to. She was ruthless. She wasn't good for me. I wanted to get as far from her as possible, but that's... difficult, given the circumstances."

"Yeah, small school... I get that. I have this feeling though, especially after... after Ron. I mean, will anyone ever be good enough? Will anyone ever be able to put up with this twisted image I have in my head of the only man I've ever loved sacrificing himself for me? I don't know. What about you?" She settled into the couch, crossing her legs, her glass held low in her lap. She stared into it, a far-off look in her eyes. "Will anyone ever be good enough for you and your change? I mean... will there ever be anyone you'll really truly care about?" She ran her finger around the rim of her glass, staring at the contents.

If only she knew. But she didn't. She hadn't seen herself moments ago, holding that photograph, reflecting the image of a girl who needed someone, anyone. A someone who could be right beside her. She couldn't see the frizzy curl that dipped over her forehead and tickled her cheekbones, her pale skin in the dim light, her lips, dark with cold and stained with wine.

"Yeah... there... there will be." He couldn't help it, and she wasn't paying attention anyway. He stole a moment to just take her in, to look at her for once and see the entirety of her. The tear-tracks, the long lashes, the deep brown eyes that now reflected a half-empty glass of wine from his own kitchen. His own glass was empty, and left him feeling a bit drowsy. He took suddenly, wobbling a little from fatigue and from, well, he didn't know what else. Was this was feelings were like? Honest to god feelings for another person? He felt sick. That was the best comparison he had for it.

"I'm going to my room... I'll be there. For the night. Sleeping. If you need anything, knock."

She looked up at him, still partially lost in whatever she was seeing in her wine. "Course. Good night. Thanks, too."

"Don't mention it." He set his glass down on the kitchen counter before crossing the sitting room again and shutting his bedroom door behind him. He leaned against it, softly, trying to keep her out of the loop. He'd had to get out of there before she caught him staring or before he said something stupid.

He'd caught himself looking two weeks ago. And again three days after that. And daily after that. She had a certain quality about her that he wasn't used to. He liked tall girls, tan girls, in any colour of hair. He liked girls with attitude, a girl who knew what she wanted and went for it. Hermione was none of those things. She was pale, small, and afraid to ask for the simplest of favors. She'd outright refused the check most people would have taken in a heartbeat.

And god, she was beautiful. He wasn't anything she wanted, but there had always been a difference between want and... and what? Need? Something like that. He didn't know. Still, he couldn't have imagined hugging her earlier. He couldn't have imagined even wanting it, not that he hadn't liked it. Was something wrong with him? Weren't men supposed to want physical affection from women they were attracted to? All he wanted to do was make jokes about coffee and cook her things and drive around in the rain. And somehow, that felt even scarier.

Wasn't this relocation a punishment unto himself? On paper, yes, a second chance. But hadn't he told himself he'd live in solitude, that he'd do this in penance for all the horrible things he'd done to people over the years? Uninvolved. Detached. He had caused pain and now he would have some of his own, right? Then what was this? How had this happened?

He remembered what she'd said, the morning he had revealed himself. Remorse. Redemption. The night at the manor where he hadn't outed them. _But you are not the devil and you are, as of right now, no enemy of mine._ She'd said that. And she'd clearly meant it. And maybe, because of her - because he'd turned an enemy into a friend, because he'd helped where he had previously hurt - maybe he had earned a little reprieve. Maybe he deserved to have someone who he could help, to keep making up for the hurt. And wasn't that precisely what he was doing now?

He reached over, shutting off the light, and stripped down to his underwear, settling under the blankets. And maybe he didn't have any say in the matter - it was in her hands now.

* * *

"Wake up! It's nearly nine... even I don't sleep in this late." He wanted to ignore the pounding on his door, but his waking mind soon caught up. That was Hermione. In his flat. Right.

He stood and quickly threw on a sweater and sleep pants, then walked out into the kitchen, where he heard her at the counter. There was toast stacked high on a plate, and three kinds of jam, and eggs and a fresh pot of tea and another of coffee.

"I didn't know which you'd want. But I know I need a bit for breakfast."

"Yeah... course." He sat at the dining table and dared one more glance at her. She was wearing white football socks up to her knees, with black stripes. Black cotton shorts to sleep in, and a long sleeve white tee that was clearly too big for her, knotted at the side so that it fell loosely at her hip, baring just a sliver of skin. He swallowed, looking away. If she wasn't so... what was the word? Cute was too young, but she wasn't exactly a stunner. She was just charming him, was all. And he couldn't stand it.

He didn't know where these feelings were coming from. And maybe they weren't even romantic. He was sure she was beautiful, in some way, and that he cared about her deeply. She hummed a bit of a tune, smiling slightly, and he had to turn away again. He cared. About anyone at all, was one thing, but about _her._ She was going to be staying her for an indeterminable amount of time. It would be impossible for him to get her out of his head - she'd be in his bloody flat. And then what?


	11. Chapter 11

Harry's flat had never felt like a Haven, so how had Draco's come to be just that? She had previously felt safe in Harry's flat, sure - as long as Ginny wasn't there, and as long as she remembered to cast the silencing charm so neither of them would have to hear her scream at night. But Draco's was different. She felt so weird about staying there in the first place that she remembered to cast the charm as soon as she shut the door, even if she might possibly lay down for five minutes. She did the dishes and cleaned up as much as one could after a completely obsessive compulsive roommate who always cleaned up after himself. In the end, he always walked behind her and organized things _just_ the right way until she'd given that up along with trying to pay any sort of rent. She'd brought the idea up the very first morning she'd been there, and he'd laughed her off and told her that her money was better spent elsewhere. He had bought the place outright, there was no need for rent. He wasn't using the room anyway.

She tried helping with groceries or bills, and sometimes he would allow her to contribute, mostly just to placate her. And she knew it, too, but she felt better forking over the check every week for her 'portion' of the groceries and the heating bill. When she'd mentioned that one, he'd laughed.

_"It's the coldest winter in recent record. If you really want, sure, you can help me pay the heating bill."_

She did, every week. Well, there had only been three so far. She hadn't been so well taken care of since her childhood. It had been a year and a half since anyone had really taken care of her, besides just letting her sleep on the couch and helping her when she was penniless. Draco had really made an effort. She appreciated it, but of course had zero idea of how to show it. The fact remained that she was staying in his flat, and that alone was enough to leave her feeling uneasy.

As the weather grew colder, their friendship grew warmer. How fitting. He was now not afraid to put a hand on her back when he squeezed past her in the kitchen, or to ask her if she wanted to go with him on various errands. It was nice, having a companion who no longer acted as if he were afraid of her.

The first two nights after the first night she'd stayed, she'd forgotten the silencing charm and had woken him during the night. He'd rushed out of his bedroom in whatever clothes he could find and knocked frantically on her door, making sure she was okay. She was, of course - just nightmares - but he checked anyway, both nights, until she started feeling guilty about the charm.

She had talked about ruining her scarf the night she had gotten sick in his dining room, and he'd bought her a new one. The one she owned was two years old and no longer available, so he'd gone to the ordering department of the company, after many phone calls, and paid three times the normal amount to get one made like it. The gesture had surprised her nearly to tears, but he'd insisted time and time again that it was nothing. Just a gift. She'd had half a dozen 'gifts' like this in the twenty days and nights she'd spent there, and he didn't show any sign of stopping. This was his way of thanking her for existing, he supposed. For not only accepting that he had changed, but for proving to him just how true it was.

She also showed no sign of leaving. In truth, she had enough saved to move out on her own that very day, but the both of them had silently acknowledged that she couldn't make it on her own - until it wasn't such a silent thing anymore. On the morning of her third full week there, Hermione woke early to make breakfast again. The past three Saturdays she'd risen early to make tea and toast. They would read or do laundry in the early morning hours and go out walking or to lunch in the afternoon before retreating to the flat and into silence again for a while before cooking dinner together and talking. It was a mostly silent pair, but she internally joked - that's how rocks were. And he was, at times, hers. They'd now been acquainted a little over three months, and though acquaintance was no longer the word, she didn't know exactly what was.

* * *

"What's this one again?"

She held up the glass to the light that came from the kitchen, the only one on in the house. During her second week there, he'd gone out for dish soap and she'd spent the half hour looking through his drawers for candles. She'd had dozens of them at her parents house, it was as close as she got to a religion, the glow that came from a candle. She felt true bliss then. And she felt it again when she'd found a box of various small candles and a few plastic wrapped ones that looked like they'd been bought and hidden. She set them all on saucers and a wooden dish and lit them all, at least thirty. Draco had come home and his eyes had bulged out of his head, seeing the light of the candles reflecting on the glass wall of his apartment, across the view of the city below. She sat in the glow, in cotton shorts and a sweater, his reading glasses perched low on her nose. She didn't need them, but she'd taken to wearing them to keep her eyes from getting tired anyway, a small comfort.

He smiled again now as he did that night, though less from the candles that were lit again and more at the face that she made into her glass, utterly confused and too careless to show it. She'd loosened up in the past three weeks, and he'd been glad for it. It was easier for him to get near her without feeling both angry with himself and nervous about being within five feet of her. She left her hair natural all the time now, and he'd bought her an emerald green umbrella and rain boots to match. She'd frowned at the color - _really? clever, Draco... -_ but wore them whenever it so much as sprinkled.

"Chianti. Ninety-two. Castello di Gabbiano. Italian."

"It's _wonderful."_

"Anything is, after a big enough glass." He smirked, picking the bottle up off the coffee table. "More?"

"A little."

He filled her glass again, eliciting an eye roll, and filled his own as well. This was new. She'd been frustrated with work that week, her Friday session had ended in her storming out of the office and shouting at 'Ben' for being late, when she'd been the late one. He let her pick any two bottles from his cabinet - which had been a painful few moments of wondering if she'd pick the twelve-pound grocery variety or the four hundred pound he'd ordered from France and planned on saving for a special occasion. She'd picked something mid-range both times, respectable choices, and they were now on the second bottle, smiling wide. They'd watched an old film through the first one, laughing at the decades old humor and clothing, and had just begun the second.

"You know what I can relate to, though? The little one starting school."

"Hermione Granger, afraid of school? I daresay I thought you were ready for your OWLs by Easter hols of our first year, I never pegged you as nervous for school."

"Oh, it was worse for me, I simply _had_ to be the best, _had_ to prove myself... got a lot of people annoyed with me in the process, but I supposed it worked."

"Bloody right it did. I was excited for school, in a way. Got me out of the manor. And anyway, not nearly as frightening as signing the relocation documents. I almost wasn't accepted, but McGonagall herself demanded it. Wrote a letter to the panel, showed up at my hearing. I, apparently, had never done a bad thing, never broken a law. That was a lie, for the most part, but I didn't do what I'd been accused of, and she knew it. And now everyone did. And... you know? I thanked her but she wouldn't look at me."

"You hit her right in the soft spot. She rarely shows it, but she's really protective."

"I got that much... but I was giving up my life, you know?" He stifled a hiccup, attempting to continue. "I had always been so bloody _proud_ of who I was. A _Malfoy_. Fat lot of good that did me after school. Now I have to pretend outright that I don't exist anymore. I have to just toss away whoever I've been for the last seventeen, eighteen years and just become someone new. As young as I am."

"Has your family ever tried to find you? Your mum, maybe?"

"No, my father didn't fully approve of what I was doing even as he was pushing me towards it. If they've tried, they've failed. I haven't heard from anyone from Draco's life. But this is _better_ for me. It took me a little while to realize that, but I fully see it now. I'm better off here, you know?"

"That's sad. I mean, in a good way, but it's a little sad. Just... goodbye, whoever you were. And hello, whoever you are."

"It was that quick, too. A sign of the quill and I was gone. It became official a month or so later, I was on probation, and if I mucked that up I'd be publicly tried for the crimes I was accused of. But I didn't. In fact... I seem to remember at my second review, my handler mentioned someone giving me a glowing review, despite knowing my name..."

"Kingsley said _glowing_ review?"

"No, I made that part up. But as you're the only person I've told... you really told them good things about me? Even then?"

"I only said I would mind if they relocated you."

"Oh, well, that's loads more reassuring, thanks. My only friend would 'mind if I was relocated'. What care."

She rolled her eyes, tipping back her glass and taking in a mouthful of wine, letting it sit there a moment before swallowing, eyes closed.

"Seriously. Draco. Ben. I've thought about it recently, and if _proud_ isn't the word I don't know what is, but you're really doing good things. I didn't expect this of you, not even when you were already trying to help me. But you've got a great job, really hard to get actually. You're kind, and helpful, and you... you've done more for me than anyone else has tried to do since long before the war. And hasn't that all been worth it?"

"I suppose."

"Oh, you _suppose,_ hmm?" She teased. "Come on. What's been the best part of this whole thing? Changing who you were, starting over new?" She stared at him a long while, watching his face and the way he kept it down towards the pillow in his lap for a few long, long moments before looking up at her, and...

_Oh._

She'd been so busy studying the planes of his face, the angle of his jaw, the way he concentrated on his glass of wine that she'd barely noticed that his silence had lasted just a touch too long before he'd looked right at her. Instead of sobering her, as she'd expected, his look only made her feel a little more punch-drunk, and she smiled a bit. He shook his head, took a sip and a deep breath, and started.

"All of it, really. I mean, I have let go of an awful human being who only ever hurt people. Including hurtful people. When you hurt hurtful people, you're even worse. But now I'm not hurting anyone, in fact I've been helping someone who I... I care about. You clearly are alright spending time with me even though you're the only non-official soul who knows who I was before this."

Though she knew it was true, it sounded a little forced - as if in that pause, he'd quickly rehearsed in his head what to say. Wine, however, clouded her ability to criticize the few moments of quiet or the following speech, and she only nodded, smiling. "That's good, though. I mean, I do _like_ spending time with you, I don't just tolerate it or anything."

"That's... thank you." He took a long sip from his glass, keeping his eyes on her.

Soon after the conversation shifted back to Hogwarts, and to Snape, and then to Harry and his scar and his glasses. It went from there to the small pile of laundry they both had to do, and then through a third glass of wine into a peaceful, shared silence. Neither of their heads, however, were silent. In the minutes they spent just feel apart before bed, Draco mentally berated himself for making his pause so obvious and Hermione contemplated the strange swell of emotions she hadn't expected to feel after Draco's pause and his long look at her.

Even in silence, there was chaos.

* * *

"You got an owl too?"

"Yeah. My handler is probably loving that your owl post is going to my flat..."

"I'm sure it's a real joke to everyone. But really, two weeks? What can we do with two weeks? Christmas is in a handful of days and New Years just after that, I suppose we can fill the time and head out a little."

"We could. Speaking of... I was thinking of heading into town to do a bit of shopping. Of the magical sort. Would you want to come with me? If you didn't, of course just stay here, I didn't know if you'd be up to that sort of thing..."

"I've successfully avoided other people for six months now, I think another day will be fine."

"Six months no friends, cold turkey. Congrats."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I just have to dress really quick, give me ten minutes..."

And ten minutes later she emerged, dressed in nice jeans and a new sweater, covered in a nice new trench coat he'd bought her after he caught her staring at one in a shop window. It looked good on her anyway. She had gained a little of the weight back that she'd lost by not eating or sleeping, and it sat very well on her, as far as he was concerned. Her hair was pulledback in a long braid, a clip holding back the shorter bits. Her feet were bound in two pairs of thick socks and her tried-and-trusted boots that he never saw her without for more than a day or two. She'd put on a little makeup - not for him, he thought, but he appreciated that she felt well enough to do it anyway - and was pulling on a pair of leather gloves, another gift, when she shut her bedroom door behind her and looked at him.

"Ready?"

They set off to Diagon Alley, and he watched her for any sign of nervousness. She showed none, except for maybe a twist of her hands as they walked through the secret entrance in the brick wall and into the crowded alley. One or two strangers noticed her face, but she had not yet seen anyone she'd directly ever met, which was nice.

But all good things must come to an end, and this one had to come crashing down on her like a ton of bricks. They had been walking near enough, in the packed street, that their arms were touching, and he felt her tense before he saw any sign of it. It seemed like every muscle in her had gone rigid, her walking slowed, her breathing might have stopped altogether if he hadn't turned to her.

"Alright?"

"No. Ron... Molly Weasley."

He followed her gaze to a stout little ginger woman, her arms weighed down with half a dozen packed paper bags from shops. She was staring back at Hermione, her face unreadable for a few short moments before it felt into an unmistakable look of sadness. She set the bags down, leaving them with the woman beside her - likely an old friend - and walked as fast as her little legs could carry her towards Hermione. To her credit, she didn't take a single step backwards - but that could have been because of a large, strong hand resting on her lower back, keeping her in place. He hadn't wanted to hold her there at first, but a little nagging voice in the back of his head had told him that she'd have to do this eventually, and now was as good a time as ever.

"Hermione... oh, dear, I've been looking for you everywhere! Harry tells me you won't call, won't write, my owls don't know where to find you, we were worried sick about you!"

"H-Hi, Molly."

"Is that any way to greet your other mother? Come here, I think I rate at least a hug!"

Hermione, to his surprise, took a bounding step forward and into Molly's outstretched arms, laying her head on the shorter woman's shoulder with closed eyes. When she stepped back a moment later, the look of a deer in the headlights had left her eyes, and was replaced by one of anxiety.

"I don't know what they've told you - Harry and Ginny, but..."

Molly waved her hand and shook her head eagerly, sternly stopping Hermione from saying anything silly. "Don't worry about either of them. Ginny has been... _different_ since the war. She's very... attached to how she wants things to be now. It hasn't just been Harry, don't worry. She's gone a bit bossy, and a bit mad, but I'm still her mother and I know when to believe what comes out of her mouth. The moment she said a bad thing about you I warned her that the next one would warrant a week of grounding. I don't care what sort of mood she's in, you're family too."

At this, Draco watched Hermione all but fall on the ground in a heap. Her shoulders sagged, her hands fell from fists into limp little things at her sides. He reached towards her but hesitated. This was still a delicate moment that she might not want him to interfere with.

"Why haven't you been at dinners? I was afraid you didn't like any of us after all, that you'd had a change of heart, that..." She lowered her voice so that just the three of them could hear. "That what had happened, that what happened to Ron, had scared you away from the rest of our family."

"Never. Molly, I can't begin to explain, and I'm not sure Harry or Ginny has tried, but things have been... difficult for me over the last six months."

"Harry tried, once. I don't think he was ready to talk about it himself. It was back in June, bless him. I told the pair of them to invite you, but Ginerva always told me you weren't available... only recently, after she tried saying things about you, did I get the idea that she'd never told you at all. Harry probably thought she had been asking you the whole time, he's a wonderful boy but things go right past him if you know what I mean." She smiled weakly. "Same as our dear Ron always was."

"He... I..."

"Not too much, there. The thing Harry told me about... nightmares. Is that why you haven't been going to ministry dinners, as well?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well, I'd love it if you at least came by for dinner, just with family. We all miss you terribly, George asks about you often, as does Percy. I'll make the roast chicken and pasta, with the cream sauce..."

"Sounds... sounds great."

"And the ministry dinner for New Years, you really must go, they're spending a fortune on it... the fund for the war was bigger than expected and the extra is being spent on a longer guest list, huge amounts of decorations and champagne and a string band... it's going to be a really lovely way to ring in the year."

It was at this point that Molly took her second glance at the man behind Hermione, who had one hand hovering just over her lower back and one jammed in his own pocket so low he thought he mind find his knees.

"And who is the young man behind you?" Molly gave what she thought was a sneaky look at Hermione, complete with raised brow and impressed smile.

Hermione simply turned back towards him, and he knew at that point that she had had enough for the afternoon. He would have to handle this one. Here was the mother of children he'd mocked in school, the wife of the man he and his father had criticized since he was a child. This was a woman he'd personally made fun of. But then, he wasn't the same person, was he?

"Name's Ben. Ben Holloway. I work with Hermione, helped her get her job. She's... she's staying with me while things are tense at Harry's." He smiled, and fought hard to keep it while she reached her hand out to shake his. He gave it a good wag and then stuck it back in his pocket, finally resting his hand on Hermione's back again.

Molly cleared her throat. "Well, Hermione, your... friend, is more than welcome at dinner also. I'll send an owl, now that I've got two names to track around. I've got more shopping to do and a friend to get back to, but you two enjoy your afternoon, it's lovely out!"

She quickly hugged Hermione again and then teetered away. Hermione relaxed, leaning slightly back into his hand. It really was lovely out - the mushy, wet snow was being replaced by a fresh powdery fall, coating them all in a dusting of pure white light.

"That was..." Hermione started.

"Do you want to leave?"

"You know... no. I thought that would be a lot harder than it was. Of all people to run into here, she was the one I was most afraid of. And... it's done now. If I can handle that, I can handle anything."

He gave her an impressed sort of look and she smiled. "I like it. A little confidence."

"Yes, well. Let's see how long it lasts."

He offered her his arm and gestured down the alley with his other hand. "I wanted to stop in for some simple potion ingredients... my arm?"

She hesitated, but took it, winding her hand around it and clutching once again at the crook of his elbow. He had sensed that she might need the support, and he wasn't altogether against a little contact between them, anyway.

* * *

"I promise we won't stay long. Dinner, a few minutes of catching up afterwards. The very minimum that manners require."

"But why do I have to go?" Draco held two different shirts up to himself. Hermione had come home from getting a few things for herself to tell him that Molly had owled that morning and asked the two of them to dinner, officially. She didn't know how to refuse and didn't think she should.

"Because going is exactly what Draco wouldn't do. But who did Molly meet just yesterday?"

"Ben. She met Ben..."

"Exactly. And Ben is my friend, and Ben is a nice boy who comes to dinners with me and has manners and wouldn't avoid the family of a war hero who lost so much."

"Yeah but it's... never mind."

She tried twice to get him to finish his thought, but he'd refused. She groaned inwardly.

"The grey shirt. Looks good with your eyes." She pointed towards the shirt on the left, a plain cotton dress shirt that he was fond of for the exact reason she'd pointed out. He slipped off his t-shirt (at which point she averted her eyes) and slid on the dress shirt, buttoning it one button from the top, so as not to appear stiff, and rolling the sleeves up to just below his elbows. She nodded in approval, whirled around to grab her bag, and motioned towards the fireplace.

"Come on. We'll be late. I told her we'd floo in by seven and it's seven now."

"I could apologize for not making it, or..."

"No. If you don't go, I won't. And I really do miss the rest of the family, they've been like my own for so many years. Just a quick stop. If everything goes alright, from now on I can go by myself."

"It's not like that, it's..." He felt bad. It wasn't as if he didn't want to go on principle, he was just nervous and she knew that.

"No time. Let's go, now. If it's too much for either of us, we'll ask about the time. And if you do, I'll ring you and we can work out a way to leave, and vice versa. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, let's go."

When they were both safely through the Floo and standing in the sitting room of the Burrow, Draco sighed. He'd always seen the outside of this house and mocked it's appearance. A filth hole, a rotting mess, a shack. But inside it was much different: the walls were painted over in bright pastels, there were books and games stacked on tables, shoes piled high near the door and near the fireplace. Hermione was immediately swept into a round of hugs by a gaggle of gingers that he admitted he didn't know all the names of, which might make it easier to appear as if he weren't Draco at all, but Ben.

Hand after hand shot out at him with a name and a handshake - there was Bill, and his wife Fleur, and Arthur and Molly (who hugged him, to his inward mortification) and George Weasley, looking somber. Charlie Weasley was the last to greet him, and attempted to briefly make chatter before asking him what his intentions were with 'their Hermione'.

"I... sorry?"

"With Hermione. Honestly, we're really just glad you've been there for her. Harry's told us what she's been through - the nightmares, everything. I didn't think she'd ever show up. But mum said she'd run into you two, and here you are. And what exactly is your relation to her, is what I'm asking."

"She's... we're... I mean, I got her the job she's at now."

"But you knew her before that, in some capacity?"

"Yes, I..."

Hermione appeared behind him, smiling softly. "Come off it, Charlie. You're scaring him. Everyone, this is Ben Holloway. Ben's my... friend. Here for a little support tonight." She smiled weakly, and he forced a small grin to meet the greetings of the family that began to sit around the table. Hermione did not leave his side again, going so far as to scoot their chairs just slightly closer together.

"Molly, where's Harry? And Gin?" Hermione asked while looking down into her water glass.

"Oh, they were supposed to be here... Ginny came up with something last minute. I told them you'd both be here, but she simply couldn't make it!"

Even Molly Weasley's tone had sounded forced - and Hermione's raised brows told the truth that she knew as well as anyone else in that room that Ginny had stayed away from the dinner specifically because Hermione would be there.

* * *

When dinner had finished - and Draco had admitted quietly to Hermione that the food alone was worth coming tonight - the family and their guests sat making idle chat around the table. The Weasely men at one end of the table talked Quidditch, with infrequent additions from Draco's own feelings on teams. 'Ben' was invited to join them halfway through, but Hermione wouldn't let him leave her side. Nearer to ten, there was a knock at the door before the knocker simply entered, clearly welcome here. Harry strode through the door, and much to Hermione's relief, smiled at her.

"Hi, everyone. 'Mione, you're looking well. I called..."

"I know, I should have called back. I was just... sit, sit. We'll talk."

Molly busied herself with other things while Harry took her seat, talking to Hermione and Ben about work.

"So Ben, you work lower than Hermione?"

"Yes, an Unspeakable. The work I do is very complicated, very personal."

"I see. But you have your one person, correct?" Harry glimpsed at Hermione, and as she felt herself blush, she knew that he knew the answer.

"Yes. I talk to Hermione, mostly. She's a great listener... didn't have really many friends before. When I got here I didn't know a soul. My family is all gone, in hiding still or lost in the war."

"Well, as her best friend I can tell you she means the world. She'll never leave your side - never left mine." He smiled at her, patting her shoulder before retracting his hands into his lap. "I'd meant for her to be able to stay as long as she'd like, but..."

Hermione glanced at Ben, his face solemn. He was clearly struggling, but hadn't yet tried to make his escape. She knew it would come soon though, and as glad as she was to see everyone, it had been a long night of suppressing images from her nightmares just long enough to visit. Hermione sighed.

"Yes, well. Ginny just... we're not friends right now."

Harry scoffed. "She told me some of the things that you supposedly said. About how you hated her, and how she didn't deserve me, and all..."

"And from your tone I know you know she wasn't being entirely truthful." Hermione took a sip of tea, watching Harry carefully.

"I know. She's... but I love her. And she's going through a hard time right now. And I'm trying to support her through it. It'll pass."

"I'm not going to ask you what you'd do if it doesn't pass at all."

"And I thank you for that."

Harry was distracted momentarily by Charlie, who was shouting a question about a Quidditch team over all of their heads. Hermione saw Ben's face burn before he turned to her and asked her for the time. She reached into her bag, seemingly looking for lip balm, and found his name and pressed the call button.

His phone rang, and he pretended to have an important work call on the line. He stepped outside and she waited only a minute before excusing herself from conversation to check on him. Moments later she entered again, alone, the loud crack of his apparition heard by all present.

"Has Ben left?" Molly tried looking outside, as if he might still be there.

"Yes, unfortunately he has. Something came up at work, he's got to go in immediately. I'd better go, it might concern me as well."

Hermione thanked Molly for dinner, said her goodbyes to the family, and promised Harry she'd call him. Once she stepped into the floo and came out on the other side, she saw Ben pacing through his sitting room, eyes wide.

"Are you alright? Draco?"

"I'm fine. I just..."

He sat down, putting his face in his hands. She knew where this was going. She walked into the kitchen, started tea, and brought cups out for the both of them.

"Thanks. Just a cup."

"Of course. Are you going to tell me what made you fall apart like that?"

"I never understood family dinners. The closest I've ever gotten were meals at Hogwarts or a forced meal with my parents, that usually included Death Eaters and plans. Seeing one - and of all families, that one... I've ruined that. If it weren't for the people I once called family, their family could be whole, nobody would be missing."

"Draco, you can't beat yourself up about it..."

"The worst part was all the casual conversation. You have that. I only had murder, death, and plots in conversation at home. Charlie asked that Quidditch question to Harry - about the pitch at Hogwarts - and I knew that. I could have easily joined in. But how can I face myself doing that when I know that their family is broken because of me?"

Hermione tucked her legs under herself, resting her chin on her knee before taking a sip of tea. "I don't know. I can't face them either - Charlie was tortured in a dream of mine. I saw it all again."

He nodded, turning towards the television. It was clear he didn't want to talk about this, not now. He flipped on the television and turned to the nearest movie he could find, an old Christmas film that they watched through the end. Hermione rested against him slightly on the couch, turning towards him when the movie ended. To her great surprise, he was asleep, sandy hair disheveled and sleep worn. She hadn't noticed the moment he'd gone to sleep. She reached across him to move an out-of-place lock of hair, and hesitated. Yes, they were friends - or something like it. But touching him like that, caring about him like that...

Hermione knew there was a line she didn't want to, or wasn't ready to, cross. And moving his hair off his face was just on the other side of that line.

She stood, extracting herself from his side and shaking his shoulder gently.

"Draco? Ben? It's time for sleep. Come on. You fell asleep."

He woke suddenly, thanking her for the tea and walked into his bedroom without another word, and she was thankful for it.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

_It was like she was reliving the day she found out who he was - the ward line at the end of his front hallway, the fizzy, distorted look in the air - only the distortion didn't fade, she couldn't hear a thing, and where exactly_ was _Ben anyway? And why were most of the lights out? Only a pale moon lit the flat before her, barely reaching the place in the hallway in which she stood. But it was not Ben who she then saw, just on the other side of the line. The man standing in his comfortable, private apartment was Draco as he had appeared just a few short years ago. His white-blonde hair was slicked back, his eyes wide and full of mischief. Had this boy really changed so drastically to become the man he was now? He reached towards her, fingers outstretched._

_"Hermione... please, come to me..." She heard his voice alone in her head, barely a whisper. Pleading with her.  
_

_She stepped closer at the same time he did, but his actions had vastly different reactions - the tips of his fingers, as they passed over the ward line, blackened and curled as if cursed. Bits of his fingers fell to the ground, ashy white and black and everything in between.  
_

_"Draco, stop, please..." She wasn't sure if he could hear her - she couldn't hear herself. Only his voice rang out in the otherwise perfect silence.  
_

_"Just a step closer, Hermione. You're almost there."  
_

_"Stop! Ben! Draco! You can't..."  
_

_With every inch that he moved over the line, more of his arm burned - this his shoulder, his chest, the tip of his nose, and finally his face. His eyes - something she'd admired even in their childhood - seemed to melt and seep from their sockets and onto the floor, disappearing entirely. He stumbled the rest of the way over the line, his bare, pale feet the last things to curse and wither away. Though she called his name, his form did not change back from the marled mass that it was - nor could she turn and leave or even scream, for what it was worth. One thing above all was certain - the only place Draco Malfoy could exist, the only place he was allowed to be alone with his sorrows, was his home.  
_

Hermione woke herself shouting again, a mere hour before her alarm was due to wake her anyway. She rolled over in the guest bed in 'Ben''s flat, breathing hard. She'd had nightmares about him before, but very rarely since she'd actually found out who he was. She tried to fall back asleep, but it was useless - even pulling the covers back over her head only reminded her of a pale, moonlit flat exactly like the one she was in. She sat up, checked her phone, and peeked out the door into the sitting room. Draco wasn't here - he must have gone into work for a while, as his bedroom door was open and there were no noises coming from within. She quickly changed into a pair of plain black leggings and an old, soft sweater that hung slightly off one shoulder.

She slipped out, splashed water on her face in his bathroom, and leaned back on the counter. The shower door was open, and there were still droplets of water on the pristine glass walls. He'd left recently. Her things were in the shower as well, a neat little row of shampoo, conditioner, and scrub. Most of her other things were tucked away in the spare bedroom, out of sight. But there was her brush on the vanity counter, her toothbrush and toothpaste in a small bag hidden in the corner. So many of her things in his space. How did he stand it? Ginny's face, to her surprise, filled her mind.

_"Oh, is that why you called out to him when you came home? Looking for my boyfriend?"_

_"My best friend, as well." Hermione had felt so defensive, so unsure...  
_

_"He's your roommate. And to be honest, we think you've overstayed your welcome."_

_"We?"_

_"Harry and I..."_

If even Harry had been tired of her staying there - on his futon, no less, in his sitting room, with her things slightly spilling out of a suitcase and overnight bag - what kind of burden was this? Draco had offered. _Ben_ had offered. But so had Harry, then. And Ben had a much bigger reason for wanting to stay in a flat of his own. Without a moment's pause to convince her otherwise, she grabbed her small bag and brush off the vanity counter, and slipped her things out of the shower. Though precariously balanced in her hands, she managed to make it back to her room and drop them into a bag. Her wand was in a drawer in the bedside table, she'd empty that last. No, a good old fashioned muggle packing job was right for this morning. She was leaving. She'd been a burden on him long enough. She'd already contacted the manager of a building not far from here, just the day before. There was a small flat open for an amount she could easily afford. She'd move in as soon as possible.

But how would she tell him? Somehow, she didn't think she could muster the words. At Harry's, she'd always felt like she was in the way of his and Ginny's relationship - or of his television, at the very least. But here she was welcomed, cared for. How was she going to explain that she absolutely had to walk away from all that? She crossed the sitting room and entered his bedroom, sat down at the small desk with a muggle pen and paper, and scrawled a quick note.

_Ben -_

_I thank you for your hospitality and welcome, but I fear I've been too much of a burden. I can't help with anything...  
_

No, that wasn't right. This sounded like a business letter, something you'd write to a colleague who let you crash for a night when you've been kicked out by your spouse. Ben was more than that, and she hadn't _really_ been kicked out of Harry's, anyway. But she thought of the quickly growing funds in her account and of how they were going to waste while she was here. He didn't let her pay for a thing. He could afford everything she wanted, needed, and more. But she didn't want to be dependent. She wanted to prove she was doing better and... and that's what she had to tell him.

_Ben -_

_I appreciate your help more than anything over these last few weeks. If it weren't for you I'd have no job and be no closer to solving my little problem, but you've taken me in and done all you can for me. But I can't allow you to do any more, not out of guilt but because I have my own funds now, my own way of getting by. Since you haven't let me pay for a thing (and don't lie and say you have - you spend at least five times as much as I give you for the heating bill on things for me that I need or want or hardly mention at all) I've saved up a considerable sum quite quickly - more than enough to get my own flat, to make my own way. It's important to me that I do this not to get away from you - not for that reason at all. But so that I can prove to myself that I'm getting better, that I'm going to try my damnedest to go back to my normal self - hair and all.  
_

_We've become something like friends, in the last few months. When I fought with Ginny or had a hard day at work, you've had Chai waiting. You've told me a good half of your secrets (more than I ever thought I'd know) and you've been that person for me, as well - when I can't talk to Harry about how nasty his girlfriend is being, you'll sit down with me and a bottle of wine and let me talk it out. Never did I think I could be this comfortable with someone again - and maybe_

"Hermione?"

She might have even gotten away with all of it, too, if the front door hadn't opened just minutes later. Though she was mostly packed, she wished she'd been finished enough to simply thank him for his hospitality and tell him she'd see him in two weeks for work. Two weeks? Why did that seem like such a long time, now that she thought about it? And why did that matter, anyway? She'd been living with him for twice as long, now.

"'Mione, you up yet?"

"I am. I'm... I'm in your room. Borrowed your desk."

"Oh, good. I just went to the market, picked up a few things. I talked to the butcher, I told you about him - Vincent - and he told me he's going to have something special just before Christmas, just a few more days to wait. Wouldn't tell me what it was."

She didn't say anything. What about Christmas? She doubted she could face going to the Weasley's again, it had been hard enough for her to keep a smile on her face through a dinner in which she vibrantly had to relive each one of their deaths. Had she maybe been expecting she'd spend it with Draco all along? He stepped into his bedroom after leaving the groceries in the kitchen.

"You look like you're packing. Impromptu vacation? Can I suggest Italy, there's a fantastic little villa in Naples that my parents hardly ever used but once or twice. Views of the sea..."

"I'm not going on vacation, Draco. I'm leaving."

"Leaving where? How long?"

"I shouldn't be here, Draco. You and I know that. We're barely friends. And with our history... I don't know. I still haven't been more than that one night without nightmares. I remember to cast a silencing charm in the guest bedroom only because I feel guilty about staying here in the first place. You're a man of solitude. You like your privacy. It's your flat, after all, not mine - no matter how many weeks I've been here. You shouldn't have to see me like this..."

He scoffed, walking to her quickly. "Like what, like yourself? You've been happier in your time here than in the months that you were still at Harry's. You never went out, never smiled. We just laughed last night about a film we watched and told stories for hours. If that's you at your worst, I'd kill to see you at your best."

"That's all very well, but Draco - Ben... you don't have to. I want to prove to myself that I can make it on my own and not have to depend on anyone else."

"You can pay some rent - something. Electric bill? Split groceries? Just don't leave, please... I was a lonely man before you got here. And I don't want to go back to that. You're more than welcome here, you're..."

"You don't have to be polite." She stood, smoothing down her sweater and pushing her mane of hair back out of her eyes. "I need to go. For me."

She stepped past him - gaping, watching her go - and back into the bedroom. She packed up the last of her things with a flick of her wand, which she produced from the bedside drawer. He wanted her to stay, though she couldn't possibly imagine why. Nightmares? Twice the groceries?

"What about Christmas? Are you going to leave me alone on Christmas? It's just a few days time, you know..."

"I didn't intend to, no." She took a quick glance at him to see him leaning against the door frame, arms folded.

She saw between them once more a line. So many lines to cross, so little time. She had hesitated just nights ago, so why did the other side look so tempting now? True, his chiseled jaw, wheat blonde hair, and strong shoulders would have left any woman weak at the knees. But he was so much more than he looked - whether he looked like he did now or like he did two years ago.

The line tempted her, and she gave in, crossing it to stand just inches from him. "I'll be here for Christmas. And Christmas Eve, if you'd like."

"I would." She watched his arms move hesitantly, first the left and then the right. She'd hugged him half a dozen times now, though it had been from a foot or so away and more in passing as a thanks for running to the store or cooking something wonderful or, more commonly, another glass of wine. But he'd never made the move to her, and watching him struggle with it was near comedic. His hands, eventually, found her waist and then slid over her back, crossing over each other. She was small and his arms were long, but resting her head briefly on his chest and resting her hands on his shoulders was a welcome pause from the tension of her decision.

She was packed and gone in seconds - not another hug, not another goodbye. If she'd have tried either of those things, she might not have left at all.

* * *

As soon as the door had shut behind her, Draco felt a surge of anger - betrayal, maybe. But why? She hadn't personally offended him. And in some small way he did understand her need to prove herself, to try and better herself - even though, right now, he thought it was a load of crap. She could prove herself here. And make herself better here.

Speaking of making better... he coughed. Without a tissue in sight, he felt the wetness on his palm. Sure enough, there was a small spattering of bright red there, like a spray. It wasn't the worst he'd seen, but it was far from 'better', whatever that was. It had all started just after the final battle of the war. He'd felt sick to his stomach that night, like he was going to vomit, though he'd attributed it to the battle and the gory scenes that night. Later, though, after leaving his parents on the edge of the woods outside Hogwarts gates, when his heart pounded through his chest - while laying on a bed he was lucky to have, and only because Madame Rosemerta was busy celebrating - he knew something was seriously wrong. His limbs felt shaky, his head swam, he couldn't see quite straight. It was as if he'd been poisoned. And these symptoms would ebb and flow as any symptoms do, but after a week of hiding out in that room and casting protection charms to keep himself and the room undetected, he knew something had to be done. He'd overheard news of relocation, of healers doing what they could with the injured and sick and cursed.

He left the room immediately, apparated directly outside the Ministry of Magic, and entered to turn himself in. Though he'd broken no laws they were hesitant to accept him, until he was given a physical exam. He told the healer what his symptoms were, what had happened. And though tests were run and spells and potions were administered, each failed to stop the drumming of his heart and the occasional sickening vertigo. Each new battle he fought against his own body was lost, and it had been even more painful to watch his own health decline slowly and tortuously.

Then again, there would be one upside to Hermione leaving. He'd be able to work without her asking about it. Not that he didn't eventually want to tell her what was wrong... but how could he tell her how sick he was and what was wrong with him, if he didn't even know that much himself? No, once he had a prognosis, good or bad, he'd tell her. But for now it could be hours or decades until this pain overtook him.

The files in his bedroom were rarely touched by him in the time she was here. Hidden to the naked eye under his desk and visible only to himself, and only after reversing a spell, was a manila folder with pages haphazardly dropped on top. There were stacks of lab reports, procedure reports, his own lab notes, photographs of slides of his blood... but nothing was conclusive, not even close, no matter how many tests they'd done.

He brought he file into the sitting room, spreading it out over the coffee table and looking out at the city below him. It was pouring out, why hadn't he thought to drive her, or call her a cab at the very least? She could manage on her own, though - he knew that. That's what this was all about, anyway. He held the first sheet in the stack at eye-level, trying to catch more light from the kitchen. He hadn't bothered turning on the sitting room light when he'd come in. She'd have normally done that, by magic or because the switch was on the wall nearest her bedroom. The guest bedroom. Whichever. A low, sad sigh left him nearly shaking.

"Experiment eighty-six. Resiliency to blood under Detoxifying Agents Seven through Nine, December Fifteenth." A week ago. Eighty six experiments, some containing up to five agents or spells. He estimated between two hundred and four hundred different options - from the most basic cleansing spell to the most complicated, long-brewing health potions. Nothing had done even a little good to his blood toxicity level, which was, at last measure, nearing forty-eight percent. It had been happening faster and faster since he'd started his position - initially, in July, it was eight. A month later it was only twelve, but the next month it was almost twenty. By Halloween it was nearer to thirty-five. December first had marked a much slower point, thank gods - forty-two. And the next percentage points had come on, one by one, climbing. A slow point was good - it meant that either his body was trying to fight back, or that whatever this was, was losing strength. He couldn't keep such faith though - as that number rose, he would become violently ill pretty much all the time. He'd lose feeling and movement in his fingers and toes, then his limbs entirely. And eventually, with or without pain - if he couldn't find a way to fix this, of course - his lungs would stop working and Ben Holloway and Draco Malfoy both would cease to exist entirely.

It was a grim outlook, yes - but even these latest test results didn't give him any reason to behave or assume otherwise. He flipped through them all, rolling through the different experiments and needle-pricks in his head. Not even the ones in the past gave him hope - there was no specific reason for the toxicity to slow really, even when...

"Experiment fifty-nine. Resiliency to toxins after partial blood transfusion by common donation, October the first." How had he missed this? What had been so strongly on his mind that he wouldn't have seen the numbers that were right in front of his face? Right - he'd been gearing up to give Hermione a check and rid himself of the last of his guilt. Had he been able to see how differently that had gone, he wouldn't have been able to test himself at all, he'd have been beside himself with curiosity. He still was, sometimes. But these numbers didn't lie.

"A decrease in toxicity was to be expected after a transfusion - perhaps ridding my blood of the toxins. And they did return, but... not right away. They had to regrow and... let's see, twenty-four minus final toxicity of twenty-one, three percent. How many days did it take to get back to twenty-four..." Another flip of pages. "Twenty-one! Twenty-one days. That could be good, really good. A point a week... much slower than before. And slowed it down all through November and so far this month, two points a week now instead of the, what? Four or something a week earlier in October? Ha!"

He cried out, dropping the files and standing. He had to get to work, he had something he wanted to try, just to see if his theory was right. If it was, he'd possibly be able to modify the experiment to save him. And he could tell her, and... never mind that now, if his mind was too clouded in the floo he'd get excited and get lost and then where would he be?


	13. Chapter 13

"Come on. Pick up, pick up, pick up."

_You've reached Ben. I'm not available at the moment, please leave a message at the beep._

Hermione mouthed along with the recorded greeting with a snarl. They'd talked daily since she'd moved out, for at least a few days. But now, he hadn't answered his phone in almost forty-eight hours. Was he upset with her for leaving? Since when was it his choice? She ended the call, found his name, and pressed send once more. If he didn't answer this time, she'd leave a message.

_You've reached Ben. I'm not available at the moment, please leave a message at the beep._

She groaned, shifting her legs under her on the sofa. It wasn't very comfortable, but it had been her only choice. Moving into her own flat, it seemed, had many expenses that even she wasn't quite prepared for.

The machine beeped over, and sighed.

"Hello, _Ben._ You haven't been answering your phone. I'm still trying to get a hold of you regarding our holiday plans - but if you don't answer, I'll be forced to make other plans. Even though, as we both know, that would entail sitting on my uncomfortable sofa and drinking too much tea and reading all day. Not very spirited. Ring me back, or I'll show up tomorrow anyway. Or maybe not."

She clicked the phone shut, sliding it across the table so hard that it careened off the other side, where it clattered across the wood floors and came to a halt a few feet away. She sighed, picking up her book to resume reading. She wasn't kidding, she hoped he knew. If he didn't answer, she'd still show up with his gift in her hands and a stern talking-to.

* * *

"You're late."

She gaped at the man before her, his face set into mock sternness.

"I'm late? Ben, you're calling me late? You didn't answer your mobile until just this morning, and even then you barely spoke."

"I've been busy. Work things."

Hermione sighed, shaking her head and stepping past him in the entryway. She froze momentarily - the same nightmare she'd had nearly a week ago had been repeating itself each night since then, with small differences - the way he disintegrated, the last words he said to her, the way he said them, the look in his eyes before... she shook her head. Not today. It was Christmas Eve, and she was going to get through it without a single meltdown or catatonic incident.

"I thought you weren't going to look at work things until we got back from hols?"

"I thought so too, but you left, and my flat's been empty and quiet."

She rolled her eyes, setting the small gift under his 'tree' - a small fake one that she insisted he get when he had finally called her back that morning. It was bare of decoration or lights, but it was a tree, and that was enough for her. Maybe they'd have to go out and grab some lights for it in a bit, if he was willing.

"Do you have tea on?"

"No. I haven't... haven't been making it. No tea and toast in the mornings, that was your bit."

For the first time since he opened the door, she really got a look at him. From across his sitting room, the mess that he had become was still clear. His hair and shirt were unkempt, he hadn't shaved in nearly a week - a good amount of stubble was splashed across his chin and jaw.

"Have you not been showering?"

"I have. I've just been busy. And I haven't really left the flat except to go into work last night, so I had no need to fix my hair or anything."

Something in her heart deflated a little - she didn't like seeing him like this. This was new, and it was wrong. She sighed, crossing the room to him, putting her hand on his arm.

"Well, it's Christmas Eve now. No use in poor spirits." She moved her hand away from his arm only to see specks of blood in the crook of his elbow, as if he'd given blood. "But what's all that about? Work still? Draco, you've got to tell me eventually..."

"Not now. Please, not now. Some things happened last night that changed my entire reason for working where I do."

"And you're still not going to tell me."

"Maybe next time."

Hermione sighed again, running her thumb over his elbow before dropping her hand entirely. Though odd, it was still too intimate a gesture to use on him right now.

"Well, I've got some last-minute shopping to do. You can come with me or dwell on your work a little more."

He shook his head, smiling slightly. "Don't worry about me. I'm... it's been different, with you gone."

"I know. It's the same for me. I haven't ever lived on my own before. It's weird making tea and toast for one."

"Make some for two then, will you? We'll have a bite to eat before we leave. I'm going to hop in the shower, I realize I am probably a complete mess right now. I'll change my shirt, too - to that gray one you like. Alright?"

A smile pulled at the corner of her lips. She wanted to stay irritated with him - for his snappy responses about his work over the last week or two, for not calling her back or answering his phone, for not fighting hard enough to make her stay, or something along those lines - but he was making an effort, and she'd give him that.

"Tea and toast. Right. You'd better hurry, I want to get there and get out so we have more time for food... what's for dinner, anyway?"

"Ah, my favorite dish of all. It's a surprise. You'll like it. I've been gathering ingredients." He gave a little wave of his hand and disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Hermione with that stupid little smile still pulling at her lips and her heartstrings.

* * *

He'd always known Hermione Granger was an extremely difficult girl, but the even more difficult woman she'd grown to be was still not enough to make him mad at her. Not in the slightest - and he knew exactly why that was. Since the night she'd asked him if he'd ever love anyone - if anyone would ever be good enough - he'd known there was something wrong. Well, wrong was a strong word, and surely not one that most normal people would use to describe what had been happening to him over the last few weeks, or hell - over the last two months. Most people would describe it as wondrous, joyful, magical, amazing - Ben would say those things, but Draco felt awful, weak. How dare he let a woman get in his head like she had! It brought him almost to the point of frustration every time he thought about it, but then he'd remember her padding around in her socks in his kitchen, or brushing up against him when they walked. He'd remember the feel of her body against his own on the few occasions that they'd hugged, and he couldn't feel angry anymore. What he felt for Hermione was less mushy, and more of a soft shock to his system. When they touched - as they were now, her hand wrapped around his arm as they ambled down a muggle street towards one of many shops she intended to visit - he felt this sort of slow warmth spread from the spot. What sort of magic was this? And why didn't he ever want it to stop?

Before they'd left, she'd made him promise he wouldn't think about work until after the holidays, until they returned to work. It was easier for her to say, in some strange way. Though her work was also extremely personal to her, she was already used to the horrible nightmares that would wake her from sleep daily. Draco, however - and Ben, by personal association - was not used to dying. And trying to stave that off during the holidays was especially hard. He'd never had a real Christmas - sordid affairs in the manor were usually a day of dread for him, not delight. But the way Hermione eyed the decorations on lamp posts and the window displays in department stores had already changed his opinion of the holidays themselves.

"You've been quiet."

"I've been thinking." He looked down at her, her face set in mock anger.

"I thought you weren't going to think about work?"

"I'm not. I'm thinking about _not_ thinking about work." He raised his brows, letting a smile spread across his face. She laughed - and what a sound it was - and rested her head against his shoulder while they walked. He thought for a moment before asking a question of his own. He'd actually already planned this part - there were associates at half the stores in town waiting to see the two of them walk in, to trail them and purchase things on his card for her or both of them. He'd called ahead that morning. Apparently, money could get you fantastic service everywhere.

"What do you want for Christmas?"

She looked up at him, thinking carefully. "Nothing. You really don't have to get me anything, it's fine."

"You got me something. I saw you put it under the tree."

"It's silly, really. It's nothing. I shrank down something that I thought you might like."

"It's something. It's tangible and sitting under my tree. You should probably at least give me an idea, or I'll buy everything you look at for the rest of the afternoon."

She smiled as if she thought he were joking - but her smile fell when she saw the smirk on his face. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"You could test it."

She attempted to scowl at him, but ended up with a face that made them both laugh. They walked through one shop, and then another, dutiful employees following him and taking notes when he happened to point at an item a certain way. He'd send an errand boy around later that night to collect for him, and the boy would be paid well also. Hermione deserved nice things. And though she didn't want to ask for them, she knew he had more than the means required to get them for her. He'd already paid her heating bill for the month as a sort of joke - something she'd chastised him for on the phone three days ago.

When the sun began to set a little faster, sinking behind the rows of shops and tall buildings, the pair agreed to head home for dinner and relaxing. Hermione thought about her parents - how she'd have loved to have seen them, but that they were hopefully happy somewhere, eating her mother's famous mashed potatoes and singing carols like they always did. Her father played piano, and had taught her when she was a little girl - not that she remembered much now, but she remembered sitting on the stool beside him, trying to play as he did.

"Dinner's going to be good. A little more traditional than maybe you're used to, at my flat. You've eaten snails."

Hermione shook her head to clear her thoughts. She missed them. But as she couldn't be with them now, she had someone that she _could_ be with.

"How so?"

"You'll see."

It was, in a sense, traditional. While Hermione sat wrapping the one extra gift she'd gotten him - one that he'd technically already paid for, and just let her say she was getting it for him, a set of nice silver cufflinks for wearing to dinners and things - he'd moved into the kitchen, methodically adding ingredients and sauteing, whisking, and broiling for over an hour. She'd joined him briefly, opening a bottle of wine to split between the two of them and snacking on garlic bread and shrimp appetizers thrown together from leftover shrimp earlier in the week. They sat for dinner, exchanged generic Christmas greetings, and moved to the couch to watch yet another old film with yet another bottle of wine.

Hermione, despite feeling tipsy, continued to drink - it was Christmas Eve, she told him. What better time? He thoroughly agreed, and they spent nearly an hour after the credits reminiscing on their most embarrassing moments and confessions of their times at Hogwarts. The minutes passed and the both of them felt increasingly drowsy. Draco finally glanced at the clock, then back at her. Wouldn't it be something if he could just tell her how he felt? If he just leaned forward ever so slightly and...

But he straightened his back and shook his head.

"Look at the time - past one! If you want to get up early tomorrow, you'd better get some sleep."

She smiled, shaking her head. "I know, I know. But I can't apparate, not like this. I would splinch myself half to death."

"Stay with me. Stay here, I mean. My home is always open to you."

"I think I will."

She stood and he followed, and they stood there for a moment in silence before he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her. He'd missed her, gods how he'd missed her. And she had the audacity to think she'd been a burden on him. He'd never missed anything as much as her. His arms tightened around her, holding her close for just a moment longer, breathing in the soft, flowery scent of her hair before letting her go.

"Eight tomorrow morning?"

She started at him for a moment, hands slowly falling to her sides. She was gaping a little when she nodded. "Yes. Eight."

He took the last few steps and shut himself in his bedroom, leaning back against the door. Who knew how she felt - she'd lost Ron, and she'd now basically lost Harry as well. She'd lost her parents. The last thing she needed was for him to make a move on her on Christmas Eve, after they'd clearly both been drinking.

He pulled himself reluctantly from the door, turning around and slipping it open again. He'd hoped - what had he hoped, that she'd still be standing there? That he'd finally have the courage to say anything to her, anything at all? But his sitting room was empty, the room dark except for the small string of lights she'd put up that afternoon, glowing on the tree. He heard her whisper something behind the guest bedroom door - the silencing charm - and then nothing. How awful, to know that you were going to have nightmares that would wake you screaming, even on Christmas morning. How did she ever sleep? He could walk across the room, just to see her, but his hand slipped off the knob. He'd had quite a few glasses of wine, but not enough to make him think this was a good idea. He turned, changed, and slipped into bed, a nightmare of his own taking over - of never telling her what she'd come to mean to him, of her finding someone else and leaving him alone again. Their first Christmas should certainly not be their last, and...

Draco drifted off to sleep, a throbbing in his head and his heart.

* * *

In the morning, he revealed that he'd actually gotten her lots of things - a nice watch, a pair of leather boots, a cashmere sweater (in, of course, Slytherin green) and a journal he'd charmed himself. When she opened it, flipping through empty pages, he explained how it worked.

"I've had a lot of time to myself. I read a lot, in the months before you. You just have to write a date at the top, and it'll give you a new literary quote for each day you write in it. I thought it might help with your dreams or with work things - when you're not here, that is. When you're in your flat."

She hugged it to her chest and smiled. "It's perfect. My favorite of the lot. Thank you."

"I have to say, the knives are my favorite." He nodded his head towards the box she'd snuck under the tree early that morning, a new set of nice chefs knives for him to use when he cooked, since his were a little cheap.

"You'll have to use them to cook dinner for me some time soon." She smirked, putting her presents in the guest bedroom and helping clear wrapping paper. It had been a short affair, but it made her feel like a kid again, and she realized that these might be the first real Christmas gifts Draco had ever received.

After a long brunch and a short walk through town, Hermione sat on the couch with him and admitted she'd made other plans.

"It's not all night - I'm just going to see Harry for a bit this afternoon. I promised him I would either yesterday or today, and last night I couldn't even apparate myself home. If it's not too late when I'm done, can I pop by for a bit?"

"Of course. If I could keep you here all day, I would. Let me know if you're coming back and I'll put on tea."

"I will. Thank you for everything, Draco. You shouldn't have." She leaned against his shoulder and sighed, but he chuckled.

"It's the least I could do. And Draco didn't do it - Ben did. Make sure Harry knows that."

Hermione rolled her eyes, standing. "Of course I will. A crash course in 'what your old enemy and new friend buys you for Christmas.'"

"Exactly. At the very least, call me when you get home? I'd like to make some plans before New Years."

"Should be before nine. Thanks again!" She hugged him on her way out, shutting the door behind her.

Christmas was difficult. She knew her parents were probably safe and happy elsewhere, but there were people she was thinking of that weren't safe or happy at all. Well, safe was relative - Ron was safer where he was than he was before he died. So was Fred. But that didn't mean they were sitting around the Burrow with the rest of the family, ready for games and carols and food. Hermione was surprised, actually, that Harry hadn't planned on staying all day. He had left the Burrow probably two hours ago, stopped into work to check on a case, and headed home, sans Ginny. Hermione was headed to her flat to deposit her gifts from that morning and grab her gift for Harry before she went to meet him.

Last night had been eye-opening, to say the least. First had been the hug - though hug was a weak word for the embrace that had happened between them. She'd had a feeling that, perhaps, he'd been feeling a lot closer to her than before. But she hadn't expected the hold that he had on her then. And most surprising of all was that for perhaps the first time since all of this had began, she didn't feel guilty about it. She didn't think of Ron, of his bright orange hair. She didn't think of disappointing Harry or her parents. She didn't think of anyone else except him, and maybe that's exactly how it was supposed to be.

Hermione rode the elevator to her flat - a decently spacious, hardwood flat with a small extra room for a study that she filled solely with books. Draco's small study was as full as hers - books stacked on top of books and then some. Hermione went into her bedroom, putting away the sweater and the boots, but slipping the watch onto her wrist. It was lovely - a rose gold color with a mother of pearl face and what she assumed, knowing Draco, were tiny real diamonds around the face. It must have cost a fortune, but he had told her it was worth every penny. It looked beautiful against her skin, and she knew she'd never take it off. Taking her phone from her pocket was a waste of time, and more often than not lately, she found herself not knowing what time it was at all. She knew that was why he bought it for her, and she was grateful. And if Harry asked, she'd tell him the truth - that Ben bought it for her. No use in spoiling a good present with what Harry would think was bad news.

Hermione apparated to an alley corner near Harry's flat, and quickly took the stairs to his floor. She only had to knock once before he answered.

"Hi. Glad you made it. Thought you might be too busy with Ben..." He smirked.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, stepping in. "Oh, please. We're not dating or anything. He's just a good friend."

"A good friend whose flat you stay over at, who buys you nice watches..."

Her hand flew to her watch. "How'd you know?"

"You'd have bought yourself something much more practical - a twenty pound children's watch, if you had to. This was bought by someone else you've seen today, which leaves Ben."

"Yes, well. It was a gift. I hate checking the time on my phone and he noticed."

"Yeah, well. Anyway, Ginny's at her mum's for the night - she's going to sleep there too. I told her I'd be going back to work all night, and she believed me - I'm actually surprised I haven't been pulled away. There's a big case we're working on, old Death Eater. You know."

Hermione waved it away. "No work talk today. It's Christmas. Happy Christmas, Harry."

"And Happy Christmas to you, Hermione."

"Ginny's gone though? She's not going to pop up and berate me for existing again?"

"Nah. She's... she told me she feels bad about some of the things she said to you. I know she is. She just... she knows how much I care about you. And I do talk about you a lot, but that's only because I miss you. I used to see you every morning and every night, and now I see you maybe once a week, if I'm lucky."

Hermione gave him her most sympathetic smile. "I know. I'm sorry. We really should spend more time together... I miss you too. You're my best friend, Harry."

He smiled at her for a long moment, then shook his head. "Enough sad stuff. I've got your present in the other room. It's no thousand-pound watch, but you'll like it just the same."

He brought a small, rectangular package from his room - something she could already tell was a book or two, and sat with her at the kitchen table. She slipped an envelope from her purse, sliding it across to him. He looked puzzled, but handed her his gift and opened the envelope. She didn't wait for his reaction - buying the gift and the moment she'd have to explain it were enough. He'd gotten her a first-edition of Hogwarts, A History. She'd wanted one for ages. The second book was a book on Dreams, and she laughed at the simple irony. He knew her nightmares were much more than that, but leave it to Harry to try and lighten things.

She looked up into Harry's eyes and saw confusion.

"It's a plane ticket, Hermione."

"I'm aware of what it is, Harry. I bought it. It's a 'Ticket to Anywhere' - new thing they're doing. You'll be on standby, which could take a few hours to get a flight to wherever you want to go. But I think... sometimes I think you just need to get away from it all. If you needed."

"Would you come with me? To get away from it all?"

The question was loaded. He was her best friend, yes. And if he asked her to, really asked her to, she'd jump on a plane with him in a heartbeat. If he needed her, she'd go.

"I would."

He smiled, tucking the ticket back into the envelope and setting it on the table between them.

"So, how's everything else? Work? Ben?"

"I'm not allowed to talk about work - you know that. But on a scale of one to ten, it's about a three."

"That bad?"

"Three is generous. And as for Ben... it's complicated. I live in my own flat now, you know that. But I do visit him often."

"And stay at his flat."

"Yes."

"But you're not dating." He raised a brow, standing to get them drinks. "Eggnog? I picked some up. Ginny hates it, but I remember you liking it."

"Yes, sure. No, we're not dating. We've never been... like that. I mean, we've fallen asleep together watching movies, and he offers his arm when a gentleman should, but it's never gone beyond that, we've never _kissed_ or anything." Only, as soon as she said it, she began to wonder. What would it be like to kiss him? What would it be like to feel the stubble on his chin, to lean her head back far enough and stand so far on her toes that she might barely be tall enough?

"Oh." He set the glass down in front of her, taking a drink from his own and wiping his lip with his sleeve. It was so _Harry._ "You look thin."

"Good thin or bad thin?"

"Bad thin. Have you even been eating properly?"

"Not so much, since I left Ben's. I can cook for myself, but it's nowhere near as good as his cooking. He's an excellent chef, I got him knives for Christmas. But it's more than that, too. It's... it's the nightmares. You know how they started - brutal, violent. But they've changed a little now, they're creepy and strange. I still can't help anyone. I still can't do anything. But they're hurting me in all new ways now... some nights I'll have a totally normal, murderous dream - only the next night it's the same dream but twisted, gruesome, it's even worse when it's messing with my head."

"You haven't told Ben?" Harry mused.

"I haven't told anyone. I've been worrying a lot lately. If this is only getting worse, and making me worse, how bad can it get before I break?"

She stared at the contents of her glass, smiling. But it's Christmas, no more talk about nightmares. I've..."

A phone rang - not hers. Harry apologized, pulling the phone from his pocket and swearing.

"It's Ginny. I've got to..." He flipped open the phone, holding it close to his ear. "Hello? Yeah, Gin... no, they let me home early. I just... came home to change. Been here a few minutes. Yeah. Okay. Alright. See you soon then. Bye."

Hermione smirked. "Not telling her you love her?"

"It's not... I mean, we've said it. We just don't say it very often."

"I see."

"She's on her way back from the Burrow. Apparently George burned his hand pretty badly and the salves aren't helping, they're taking him to St. Mungo's and she doesn't want to go."

Hermione stood, grimacing. "I'll leave."

"Hermione..."

"No, Harry. You weren't here. Sorry as she may be, you have no idea what all she said, and she probably didn't tell you everything. It's better for everyone if I leave now. Just... don't let her see the plane ticket."

"I won't, I..."

And then a loud pop sounded from the sitting room around the corner, and all hell seemed to break loose.

" _WHAT_ is _SHE_ doing here? Harry, I thought I told you, I don't want her over here anymore - ever! Especially when I'm not home. Get out! Get out!"

Hermione didn't need to be told twice - though she was. She picked up her books, shrank them down and stuck them into her pockets, and walked out without another word. She'd have loved a hug from Harry, to get to tell him Happy Christmas one more time, but she'd only gotten a half hour with him before those plans had been ruined. Harry called after her, and Ginny did too - Hermione whirled around in the doorway and seethed.

"I don't know what the problem you two have is, but fix it. I'm tired of the both of you two squabbling, and usually about _me._ I am not a part of your relationship. I've moved out. I'm living my own life. But I don't deserve to be treated like this. Harry - you shouldn't have to lie to your girlfriend about my being over - any normal, sane person would know that you're my best friend and I like spending time with you is all. Clearly this is not the situation. Ginny, fine. Harry's flat is yours - whether or not you _actually_ live here. And Harry, as for you - I'm going to do something drastically different from your _girlfriend_ here - I'm not going to make you choose between us. I'm going to see you when I see you, but I'd never give you up because of anyone else you choose to associate with. It's your life. Happy Christmas to the both of you."

And with that, she shut the door behind her and walked out, once more, into the snow. At least 'Ben' would be happy to have her back over, but she wasn't sure even he could cheer her up right now.


	14. Chapter 14

"You're an awful liar." Hermione rolled her eyes, not bothering to fight the smile that pulled at her mouth. He _was_ an awful liar. And it was just _funny_ , that was it.

"I am not." The sounds of papers being shuffled stop. "I am not lying."

"Just because you stop moving the papers now doesn't mean I didn't hear them before."

Ben's voice groaned over the phone. "You just think you're catching me. Going to hold it against me, are you?"

"Perhaps. Unless you just tell me, you know, that you were doing work things even though you promised you wouldn't."

"I wasn't! Not a single work thing. Not a one."

Hermione rarely resorted to using magic when something could be done the muggle way - but for this, there was no muggle way. She turned on the spot, apparating into his sitting room to find him sitting on the floor, legs straight out in a V, papers spread all around him. His face turned from surprise, to a slight smile, to a genuine frown. Hermione snapped her mobile phone shut and slipped it into her bag.

"You can't do that. That's cheating." He hastily stuffed papers back into their respective files, taking glances at her all the while.

Hermione laughed. "I _am_ a witch, you know. So yes, I have my license and I very well _can_."

He shook his head with a little vigor, undoubtedly mocking her tone. "Fine. Fine. What else was I supposed to be doing, though?"

"You promised you wouldn't get wrapped up in work over the holidays. You get grumpy and anxious when you do, and..."

"And I'm supposed to do so much here in my flat by myself? Yeah, single, friendless Ben has so much to attend that needs attending to. Day after Christmas, all on my own..."

Hermione blinked, turning so he wouldn't see her blush. "You've got me." She sat her bag down on the couch, but didn't take her boots off. In truth, she'd been ready to leave her flat for quite some time - earlier that morning, really. But she'd found herself debating whether or not to call him and invite him out with her. Not that she didn't want him there - on the contrary, she wanted him to join her very much so, but couldn't rationally admit to herself why she wanted that. And after Harry's comments about she and Ben 'dating', well... it had been a long morning of internal (and loud, external, verbal) personal argument. She did like spending time with him. She wasn't dating him. He had shown signs of slight affection. But he hadn't made any legitimate romantic move. They spent holidays, days off, and lunches together. But he still wouldn't tell her something as simple as what he did for a living.

One fact rang true no matter how she thought of it - he was the first person who hadn't just 'hoped' or said they were 'looking forward' to Hermione being 'herself' again. Since the war - well, since the nightmares and strict social avoidance that came with them - she'd heard a lot of passively sympathetic sentiments. People were 'hoping' or 'wishing' or even 'praying' that she'd return to normal soon. He had been the only one who had made a genuine effort to actually help her - besides Harry, of course. And while Draco's first effort, the awful check, hadn't quite worked out... something else had. She couldn't really put her finger on it. The dinners at his flat, the old movies, the wine, lunches at work, the way he wanted the best for her. There were of course _reasons_ for that, which she didn't exactly want to confront yet. There was that line again, bold and red, on the floor between them. Her words - _you've got me_ \- drifted over the line now, settling just there on the other side, with him. Maybe that was for the better. She turned her head away from the sandy-blond man on the floor, still organizing his files to put them away, and cleared her throat.

"Anyway, I've decided I'm going to the New Years Eve Ball. I don't know why. I just think... it's time. It's been over half a year since I've tried seeing most people again. And I think, you know, maybe now that I'm in a better position, I could try again. I know it sounds stupid, but I just got to thinking over the last few days, and..."

"What are you going to wear?"

She blinked, catching her tongue mid-sentence. "What?"

He stood, slipping his wand from his sleeve and magicking the rest of the papers away. He could have done that earlier... but now apparently she'd caught his attention fully. "You heard me. What are you going to wear? You told me you don't have much left... I know you've got the dress from the last thing. But you can't just re-wear everything."

"Well, that's why I was out. I was going to go find a gown... it's supposedly going to be very formal, and I thought I wanted to find something really nice... show everyone I'm really trying, you know? And that hopefully it might help distract me if I look at least halfway decent."

He grinned, stepping towards his bedroom. "Give me five minutes. I'll just throw something on."

"You don't have to go with me..."

"Of course I do. I can't let you try and pick something out on your own - you'd still go out looking like a nun on New Years Eve, and we can't have that." He turned the corner, still talking. His last words were a shout - "We've got to show you off, show them all!"

She smiled, sitting on the couch and looking out of the wall of glass that made up the North-facing side of his apartment. The city was waking beneath them both, the people rousing themselves from bed and beginning their Friday. Perhaps it was an accurate comparison to how she was feeling. The idea - going to the New Year's Eve ball at all - had struck her shortly after Molly Weasley had mentioned it when they'd gone over for dinner. What if she did? What if she just tried? Hermione had still been having nightmares, but she'd had to confront herself with the grim reality of the situation - they may never find a cure. They may never be able to stop the nightmares. And if that were true, she didn't want to be so afraid of her own friends that she'd never see them again. She'd have to find a way to deal with it all. And if a fancy, Ministry-thrown, glitzy ball on New Year's Eve wasn't symbolic enough or grand enough to help her get back into the world, then nothing was.

And then, inviting Ben to join her this morning wasn't purely for the reason of getting her a gown - no, she was hoping that it might convince him to go to the ball as well. Why? Well, she maybe hadn't put that into words yet. Maybe that was for the better. There was a thought nipping at the back of her brain, a silly little idea, really... the two people who had found themselves so alone, weren't so alone anymore. And wasn't it a beautiful notion? But she'd leave that and the reasoning behind it for another day. Ben stepped out of his bedroom, looking sharp as ever. Slim grey pants, white sweater, black leather shoes, grey scarf, and a heavy black winter coat.

"I'll take you. My treat."

"For what?"

"Coffee. And a gown."

"Oh, just... 'and a gown', like an add-on?" She smirked at him, shaking her head.

"Yeah, something like that." He smiled, offering his arm. "So, we'll apparate to the back of a little shop I know and walk in. It's a nice day for a walk, anyway..."

She took it - willingly - and went along with him. That just seemed to be how things were going, lately, and she wasn't going to fight him at all.

* * *

She looked... oh, where were his words? What happened to language?

She was... wow. Good heavens, wow.

His pulse quickened, he could _feel_ his pupils dilate. Was it suddenly warmer in here, or what? He knew they kept this place cool. It was a bloody department store. Why did he feel as if he were going to sweat? He'd taken off his scarf, his coat, nothing helped. But this... this gown. He could be standing stark naked under an air conditioning vent and still feel like he was about to break into a sweat. Who had picked this one out? Her? Himself? It didn't matter.

She smoothed her hands over her thighs, letting the dress flatten out under her hands. It was white - a little off-white, really, like a pearl - and entirely covered in intricate beading and sequins. Light reflected off of her every curve with every move she made. It was glamorous, fitted, with a dipping sort of neckline that showed the modest rise of her chest. Strapless, lower in the back. It hung off her hips and fell gracefully, straight to the floor. It looked like something any number of celebrities or designers would wear, but right now it was on a woman who he thought was most deserving of it. Hermione in a white dress... he was stunned. And perhaps getting ahead of himself. She wasn't facing him - she'd walked out of the dressing stall and straight to a three-way mirror, hardly looking his way. But he could see her smile in the reflection, her flushed cheeks. She liked it as well. A lot.

Somehow, in the haze of his mind, he formed a small string of words. "Looks like you've found it."

She whirled around to face him, and the dress swirled around her legs. With the heels he'd insisted she brought to try it on with, the hem of the dress hit the floor and then some, trailing around her just enough. Her face broke out into a grin, and nearly a laugh, as she looked at him.

"This thing is ridiculous." She turned from side to side, watching the way it sparkled over her skin. He'd never seen anything so... so beautiful. So entirely entrancing that he, Draco Malfoy - well, Ben Holloway - was without normal speech. But he managed to muster one last string of words, one that he briefly considered keeping to himself.

"Go with me. As my date. My _real_ date."

"As opposed to a pretend date?" She smirked. Apparently, she was still capable of normal though processes. She didn't even know the power she had over him. But as she stepped closer to him, slipping her hands into his own, he knew. She knew what she did to him, and maybe he had some sort of hold on her, too. "I will. Yes."

Before he could embarrass himself by saying something revealing she turned on her heel, dress flipping around her, and hurried back into the dressing stall - leaving him totally and utterly beside himself with joy.

* * *

She'd gotten his owl fairly early.

_I'll pick you up at seven. We'll drive._

She grinned, not bothering with a reply. He'd know she got it. He'd know she had been waiting on his owl all morning. It wasn't as if she'd planned all this - no, trying to convince this man of anything was difficult. But she had gone over there the day before with the hopes that he would go into town with her that day. And she'd done that with the hopes that, after mentioning the ball, he'd ask her. Or at the very least, that he'd agree to go with her. And why? Well, in the last few hours, at least, she'd become certain of one thing. One thing that she'd tried to avoid for weeks now, months even. One thing that could and would change her life forever.

Something had grown, in the last few months. Something beyond an acquaintanceship or even friendship or even comfort. She'd developed honest-to-Merlin feelings for the man, and she couldn't have stopped them if she tried. Not that she'd tried stopping them, anyway. What woman would, in her right mind? A man who wanted to spend his time with her, but was perfectly willing to give her personal space. A man who cooked for her in his lavish apartment, bought her nice things, and never let her lift a finger. But of course, he was so much more than that...

He was the man who never said a word on the few occasions she forgot to put up a silencing charm at night. He was the man who had taken care of her not only financially, but emotionally. He was the man who would sit in silence with her and watch and old film, or the man who would openly and easily tell her what was on his mind. He was a man who suffered, though she wasn't sure entirely how much, and yet it remained a major goal of his to end _her_ suffering. He wanted the best for her. And she wanted the best for him, she just couldn't see how she could fill that spot.

After a quick outing for a haircut and style, Hermione returned to her flat and readied herself for the evening. Maybe he did feel the same way. It had seemed so, sometimes anyway. Makeup was a quick affair, just a little smokey for the evening. Her hair fell in bouncy, shiny curls past her shoulders. It swished this way and that way when she turned, brushing against her bare shoulder and back. Part of it had been pinned back with a pearl clip, just above her ear. The sun set, six o'clock came and went and Hermione found herself simply waiting at her flat for him to arrive. She heard her phone buzz in her clutch and turned to face the mirror and adjust once more. He'd walk to her door, but always gave her a call as a heads up, letting her know he was down the street or wherever.

She didn't look half bad, she silently admitted. The dress had a way of flattering her now-returning figure. She had been nearly emaciated when she'd met him, skin and bones and hollow eyes. But he'd fed her again and kept her warm, and she was nearly back to her normal size. But she looked good, and somehow - despite the fact that she was about to face everyone she'd known, the fact that she'd seen them all die awful deaths in her nightmares - she felt good, too.

Speaking of the nightmares, the one from last night had been strange. She was getting used to them becoming less violent, and at first it had been a relief. She no longer had to see her friends being ripped limb from limb or burning to death in front of her. These new nightmares were less visually violent, yes, but she had begun to realize that they had deeper psychological meanings than she'd been prepared for. There had been one nights ago where she had been able to reach down to Ben and help him from falling into a deep chasm, but then he turned back into the pale haired Draco Malfoy she'd known years ago, and he'd pulled her in to her death along with him. In another, Harry had told her every nasty thing he'd ever defended her against - that she was a know-it-all, that she had awfully large teeth and bad hair. He told her she would never have _real_ friends. And he walked off into the distance with Ginny, leaving her alone in an otherwise peaceful room. In the most recent, Ginny had come to her to apologize for how she'd been acting. Hermione had hesitated within the dream - should she really deserve forgiveness? But a dark shadow had grown behind Ginny and grabbed hold of her, pulling her into the black abyss behind it and clawing at her. She'd heard Ginny's screams, begging forgiveness, but had been unable - or possibly unwilling - to save her. It was the first time Hermione had felt justified in what had happened in a nightmare, and rather than rationalize and accept it, it made her uncomfortable. She'd never wish that on anyone, not even Ginny.

Which was why, an hour later, dressed up as she hadn't been since the Yule Ball but on the arm of an entirely different man, Hermione had her first doubts about appearing at the ball. She'd already seen Neville immediately upon entering, but had been able to stifle the images that bubbled at the surface of her mind. He'd hugged her, introduced his girlfriend - someone Hermione didn't immediately recognize - introduced himself to 'Ben', and been on his way. One down, hundreds to go. But after the next few run-ins with old friends, she'd been similarly affected. She felt the fear, the nervousness, but could at least manage for one night to keep herself from having a psychotic breakdown in front of everyone she knew. Any time she felt the terror coming on she simply grabbed at Ben's arm, and he would whisk her away from an awkward conversation on the pretense that he saw someone they knew, while actually just escaping to a side-room for a breath of air.

Within the first half-hour, Harry and Ginny had arrived. Hermione had seen them enter and watched from her position next to Ben (who was, laughingly, in conversation with Blaise Zabini, who had no idea who Ben really was) as Harry crossed the room slowly, greeted by everyone around him but appearing to be looking for someone else entirely. When he was just a dozen meters from her, she heard her own name come from his mouth.

_You haven't seen Hermione, have you?_

She turned to see Harry patting Neville's back, and to hear Neville's response - _'She was just over there a second ago.'_ \- and then Harry was in front of her, a grin split across his face, hair already more ruffled than it seemed when he'd walked in. Ben saw this, and quickly excused himself from conversation, turning back to Hermione and then to Harry, who spoke first.

"Hermione, you..."

She smiled then too, stepping towards him. "I made it, yes."

"I was going to say you look amazing. But that works, too."

"Thank you, Harry. I figured just this morning, that I should probably go after all. No use in _not_ going, and I've been... feeling better, anyway. Where's Ginny?"

She could feel Ben turning beside her, looking out for the wild head of red hair in the room. He stopped for a moment, then seemed to relax next to her again. He'd spotted her, but she wasn't heading their way. How odd, she found it, that she could completely tell what he was thinking and what was happening, just by how he moved.

"She's back there a bit." Harry pointed his thumb back over his shoulder. "Talking with George and some of his friends."

Hermione peered back a way to see Ginny in a slim red sheath dress that somewhat overwhelmed her youthful frame, with a false smile plastered on her face. Ginny took one look towards them, made eye contact with Hermione, and then her smile set into a cold, hard line. Hermione took care not to let it show on her face and turned back to Harry.

"I see."

"Yeah. But still! You're here. Didn't expect it." He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her waist briefly and stepping back before turning to Ben and offering his hand. "Ben."

'Ben' shook Harry's hand with all the grace that a man of his background could, but Hermione could still see that it made him a little uneasy. Before she could speak again, a voice boomed over the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats around any of the unreserved tables in the room, dinner will begin shortly!" And with that, large round tables came floating in through a side door, and people moved aside until the tables settled into place. Harry gestured for Hermione and Ben to follow him and they did, finally coming to sit at a table with a half dozen or so of Harry and Hermione's old friends from Hogwarts and their guests. Neville was there with his girlfriend, then Ginny with Harry, Hermione with Ben, Dean was alone, Seamus was there with Lavender, and George and Angelina finished off the circle with Lee Jordan twiddling his thumbs and staring at the ceiling, apparently waiting for a drink. It was a happy little group, but the missing friends had not gone unnoticed. Harry and Hermione had both nearly looked for Ron to decide which seat to take. There was an empty seat between George and Lavender that George may have left empty on purpose, for Fred. But the little party went on, and dinner began, and drinks were served - at which point smiles resumed and George told a horrible sort of joke about a Mermaid and a broomstick that even Ben laughed at a little.

He took her hand after the salad course, and she was glad for it. When moments later she was unable to keep herself from remembering a ghastly nightmare involving George, she squeezed Ben's hand and he squeezed hers back, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

"It's not real. You're fine. They're fine. It's not real."

And so this repeated itself once or twice throughout dinner and dessert until Ben himself began to make jokes, and Hermione was so surprised that he was making them - let alone that he knew any good jokes at all - that she was distracted long enough from the images to eat her meal and to make side chatter with friends along the table. When dessert and a few rounds of champagne were completed, they were instructed to stand while the tables put themselves away and the glossy dance floor underneath was revealed once more. The high ceilings of the ballroom were ideal for this sort of affair - low lighting, music for dancing, enjoying ones self for the last remaining hours of the year until midnight struck. There were rumors of what sort of midnight countdown the ministry had plans, the least of which included champagne toasts and a speech and the best of which included fireworks and spells and charms of all sorts. As the couples flooded the dance floor Ben offered his hand to Hermione, who willingly took it and allowed herself to be lead into dance for the first time in so, so long.

She expected him, by nature, to be at least a little nervous about dancing. But dancing with her, it seemed, was something he was not reserved about in the slightest. His hand slid down to the small of her back, his other hand taking hers gently but completely. He pulled her in as close as their own decency allowed and lead them in slow, quiet circles for some time. Hermione chose to admit a small defeat and rest her head lightly on his chest for a moment, before he drew a deep breath and pulled back slightly.

She looked up at him, eyes wide, and she could see his pupils dilate. "Is everything alright?"

"It's... I'm fine. No, I've just been thinking. About... well, this, actually." He moved both hands just slightly to signify... to signify what? The closeness of their bodies? The dancing? The comfortable way that he was able to lay his hands on her, after a glass or two of champagne?

"Ah. I see."

"Do you?" He raised a brow, then raised his eyes to the high ceiling. "I sometimes wonder."

"You wonder what? If I notice that you care about me?" The words were coming out before she could stop them - not, necessarily, that she wanted them to. "You wonder if I notice the way you look at me? The way you want me around? I do. Notice, I mean."

"Then you don't notice at all."

"What am I missing?"

He whirled her backwards, pulling her tight again. "Oh, just the most important bits. Like the fact that I am utterly at your service for your faith in me, and that I trust you and care for you with not only the entirety of my single being, but the entirety of two hearts, two entirely different men and personalities."

What could she say to that? In honesty, she couldn't pretend she didn't know something already. She knew he cared about her. But perhaps she hadn't expected it to this degree.

"Also, I should add," he huffed, rolling his eyes at himself. "That I want to _be_ with you. Not just dancing like we are, not just as everyone assumes that we already are, but as we should be. And that I understand, wholly and entirely, if that's not what you want. In fact, I almost expect it, regardless of what you've said to me as far as my past goes. But I feel that you should know, still, my feelings on the subject."

His tense manner of admitting things was nearly enough to make her laugh. It was clear to her that this had been difficult to him - it would have been immensely difficult for her as well, which was why she was so relieved now to hear him say it all first. But she did not laugh, she only allowed a small smile to grow across her face.

"You'd be wrong on that, then. It is what I want."

He shook his head slightly, looking down to make eye contact with her. His brow was once again raised. "Is it?"

"You've got your hand that low on my waist and you think I'd permit it otherwise? You've got to be joking." If she were a more daring woman, she would have winked, but Hermione didn't even know if she was capable of it. His hand jerked up a few inches. Instead she continued to smile and forced herself to look up at him a little more. His brow fell, and he looked at her with a softness she hadn't seen in a man in... well, she didn't want to think about that now.

"Will you come back to my flat? Not tonight, I mean. Well, not, I just... that sounds like something different entirely." He flushed, shaking his head a little and making her laugh. He turned back to her. "It's hard not having you around."

"I understand. It's just... I like having my own flat. I'm doing well on my own. I got myself to come here, and I'm here with you. And I think that's a good first step. Maybe in time just... not that short of a time. Do you get what I mean?"

His smile fell only a little, but his hand slid a little farther down back to where it had been before. "I can handle that, I guess."

"And of course, I can still stay the night if I want."

His eyes narrowed, a grin creeping up onto his lips. She mock-glared at him. "I only meant if I needed! You know what I mean."

They separated only briefly for champagne and chatter between friends before returning to the dance floor in silence. But even that did not last long, as it seemed only minutes had passed when the band had stopped playing and the voice came over the room again, urging everyone to get closer to the walls for the upcoming countdown and champagne toast. Once gathered there, a small toast was given by Kingsley, champagne was sipped, and the countdown show began.

There were fireworks indeed, some of all sorts. Weasley brand, she guessed. She'd know that dragon sort anywhere. There were veela dancing for just a moment, and the only man in the room who didn't seem to fix his eyes on them was Ben - his eyes were fixed on a woman he thought was more beautiful than any other. Fireworks began again as the countdown started...

_Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!_

She should have seen it coming, but the feel of his hands turning her around towards him, one coming to hold her face and pull her closer... it sent a shock through her system that she hadn't been prepared for. With one last gaze at each other he broke the distance between them, pressing his lips down onto hers. The next few moments may have appeared to be a somewhat innocent kiss between two people with feelings for each other, but felt like an avalanche to each of them, crushing any ideas they'd had of keeping things a secret. Hermione could feel her cheeks flush, her pulse quicken. Her hands slid up his chest to rest on his shoulders as he pulled her in at the waist, her little purse swinging a little, and the noise of fireworks and revelry slammed against their ears...

And all at once, it was over, and he was pulling back slightly. She'd wanted it to go on forever, but one glance around told her that the groups were beginning to disperse already for dancing again, toasting champagne between themselves as they stepped away. She looked back to face him again, only...

Only he wasn't there. But a downwards look found him falling on the floor, limbs bent wildly. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion then - his head hit the ground with a thud that could be heard even over the party around them, a woman somewhere close spotted him and shouted for someone to look out. Attention was growing just as she saw it - a tuft of hair just framing his face faded to white-blond, and then another. Without a second thought she bent low to him, slipped her wand out of her purse and spat out a hover charm, but it wasn't working properly for whatever reason. A pair of hands reached out and grabbed his shoulders but before she could protest, she saw Harry's shock of dark hair. She knew what this meant - Harry would find out who Ben truly was - but at this rate it was either Harry or the entire wizarding world. He'd be relocated.

She grabbed his feet and together they hoisted him towards the edge of the room and through the only open door on the wall - inside was a small meeting room, mostly dim except for the light of a few lamps. Harry flicked his wand towards the door, locking it behind them.

"Hermione... he's..."

"Harry, please. Not now. Let me just..." She knelt on the floor beside him and slid her hand over the side of his neck - a pulse. It was still there, but weak.  
"He's alive. But he's unconscious, definitely. Oh, god. What do I do, what do I do?!" She ran her hand over her mess of curls, looking down as the man on the floor continued his slow change back to someone Harry would clearly recognize. Harry followed her gaze.

"He's changing. Hermione..."

"Harry, yes. I know. He is. And I know what he'll look like when he's done. I've known for a while now. Almost the entire time. Please, Harry, you can't say anything. He went into relocation after the war. He abandoned his old ways. He's a different man, Harry. You have to believe me. And you have to keep this a secret."

She looked into the eyes of her best friend, who stepped backwards away from the form on the floor that now clearly resembled Draco Malfoy.

"No."

"Yes, Harry. Please. I know it's a lot, but you must understand..."

"You've known this entire time? You _know_ that someone could have helped you loads better than he could have. After what he's done to you! To us! To everyone!"

"We'll talk about that later, but Harry, really, think about it! He took me in, fed me, cared for me, gave me a place to live. He showed me that people still care about me, and he tried his damnedest to help me feel better, too. Who else would have done that for me? Who else would give me their heart and soul to make me feel a little better?"

" _Me._ I would have." Harry's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. "Didn't I try? Wasn't that what I was doing? Bringing you into my flat, where you insisted I help as little as possible? Feeding you, spending time with you, all of those things."

"You have Ginny. It's more her place than mine."

"By no choice of mine. I didn't ask her to move in, she asked me. Since you've left, there's plenty of room. Plenty of quiet. But that's not how I'd intended it. I'd wanted _you_ there. I wanted _you_ to stay with me. You probably don't even remember... in the weeks after the war. I broke up with her. Twice. She asked if it was because of you... I never could answer her. And if it was, then on what level? Why? But I got back together with her in the end because I knew you were so deep in mourning for Ron that you could never see what I'd seen - you could never see that I was the one who wanted to take care of you. That I knew that no matter what has happened over the last almost eight years, you were always there by my side, when nobody else was."

"I don't..." She'd wanted to say she didn't understand. But she did. Harry had wanted her to stay. He cared about her. To what degree past friendship, she wasn't sure and didn't have the time to figure out now. "I've got to get him to St. Mungo's. I've got to go now."

"Of course you do. I'm not... we'll talk later." He gestured towards the form on the floor that was now definitely Draco. "About this." He gestured between them. "About this, too." He unlocked the door with his wand and stepped out the door without another word. What was he saying? But she didn't have time to think about it. His skin was paler than she remembered it, and he was still unconscious. She dragged him the last few feet to the fireplace in the corner, strained to hoist him up and support him on her shoulder - she was at least glad, for a moment, that Draco's frame was much lighter and thinner than when he was Ben - and managed to grab half a handful of Floo powder and toss it at her feet while shouting for St. Mungo's.

The moment she stepped into the lobby of St. Mungo's she made one quick observation - she'd managed to get through the Floo with hardly a smattering of dust on her shoes. But Draco looked even worse for wear now, and she yelled for a nurse, a Mediwitch, anyone to come and save them, please. She watched the dozens of faces around her morph through shock and confusion before he was pulled from her arms. But she couldn't let him go - she had to stay with him.

After a few moments of struggling to keep him close to her, she felt a peculiar little buzz around her temples and all went black.


	15. Chapter 15

_Her dreams were all twirling colors, dancers in exquisite finery. Ladies in beaded gowns with feathers in their hair, men with full tuxedos, expensive cravats. She was dancing with Ben, but then he was Draco, and soon after it was Ron. Each of them held her differently - Ron tenderly, like a sweetheart. Draco roughly, his hands slipping ever lower on her back. And Ben with all the decorum of a true gentleman - his hands in appropriate places and a truly out-of-place sparkle in his eyes. She knew by the third spin who was who just by how they held her back, and so she looked around a little more. Everyone was spinning, laughing, turning towards her with their biggest grins as they passed. It was a kaleidoscope of colors, neon and shimmering light. She was dancing with the one she loved, but who was that again? Ron's face fell away, his body falling to the floor. But she could only step over it and keep dancing. Draco's face disintegrated and turned to ash. Draco hadn't truly existed for a long time, he'd been Ben for so long now. She looked out in the sea of people again to spot one face that stood out more clearly than the others - Ginny Weasley's face, contorting and twisting. Her mouth grew into a too-wide grin, her teeth sharpening and looking almost cartoonish on her face. Her eyes went dark, her hair stood on end as she swirled around the room with Harry, limp in her arms. Hermione felt as if she'd been stuck in this loop for year_ _s, heard a thousand countdowns to new years in her head, and then she heard her name..._

"Hermione Granger."

The colors were gone, replaced with a hazy, bright white light that flooded her vision. She blinked, trying to raise herself off the bed, but found that she was restrained. Suddenly, the haziness was gone and an instinct to run filled her blood. She turned her head to the side to see a Healer, male, in his fifties. He looked up from her file, noticed that she was awake, and sighed.

"I can't let you out until you sign a verbal contract."

"Let me out, now! I... what?"

"You had night terrors. Constantly. Overnight. Allow me to introduce myself - I'm Healer Watkins, I work here at St Mungo's in the Psychological Damage division. I've been given your file from the Department of Mysteries and have... been looking up your research history. Not to worry, they'll erase my memory as soon as I do a quick check-up on you and then release you."

"You have my file? You... what day is it? What time is it? Where's... where's Ben?"

"Ah, yes. 'Ben', as you call him, is upstairs, recovering. It's only been two hours since you arrived. You got here just in time, but I've got a note here that says 'we'll have to reorganize how this works if it happens again in the future' and that 'eleven people waiting in the emergency room have had their memories of the last two hours erased'."

Hermione snorted, shaking her head. "At least it will have made their wait-times seem shorter." Never one to really criticize, she sealed her lips, feeling her cheeks turn red. "I didn't mean that, I..."

To her surprise, the Healer chuckled. "No, no. It's quite alright. I understand the humor... I don't deal in Emergency mostly, but your case is... special."

"So what do I have to say to get out of these restraints? Post-war I'm a little suspicious of anything that has to do with forced captivity..."

"What is your name?" The Healer looked down what appeared to be a short list of questions.

"Hermione Granger, you and I both know that one."

"Your birth date?"

"September nineteenth. Nineteen seventy-nine."

"Good. And your occupation?"

"Well I'm not allowed to say, am I? You're not my one person, even if you do have my file. I'd rather not lose my speech. I've got some serious reprimanding of 'Ben' to do when I see him..."

At this, her Healer let the page of questions get lost in the stack. "I'll consider that a pass. If you can work around the fact that you can't answer me, you've got to be fine. I don't doubt that, anyway, it's just protocol. Just repeat after me: I, Hermione Granger, do attest and agree to my Healer's judgement that I am mentally and physically sound, and that I will not do anything rash or stupid like trying to break out of bed and run down hallways while I'm sleepwalking."

She started to repeat him, then stopped at the look on his face. He sniggered.

"I made up that last part. But repeat everything up to mentally and physically sound."

She did, rolling her eyes but grinning. She felt a little better already, knowing Ben was okay.

He slipped his wand from the pocket of his Healer's robes and gave it a little swish towards her hospital bed. The restraints released her wrists and ankles, allowing her to sit up. She was still in her dress from New Year's Eve. She let out a little huff, looking towards the door, but her Healer's question distracted her.

"You know who Ben is? I'm guessing by your verbal implication at his name..."

She stared, openly inviting him to challenge her sanity. If anyone could, it would be someone like this man. "Yes. He told me."

"And you... I mean, everyone in the wizarding world knows you weren't exactly friends in your times at Hogwarts."

"No, but there are things the world doesn't know, either. I'm going to tell you this only because I know they _will_ wipe your memories of this. Harry, Ron and I were abducted by Snatchers. They brought us to Malfoy Manor because they thought that Harry was Harry - I mean, he is, but I'd hexed his face and it got swollen so it was hard to distinguish, even with the stretched out scar. When we got to the Manor, Draco was brought in to identify him. He knew it was Harry - that scar is unmistakable. But he said he couldn't tell, couldn't be sure. He wouldn't sell us out. I knew from that day that there was something different about him. Something had changed, maybe long ago. The day he told me who he was... I wasn't angry. Not at all. I was just so in awe of seeing a man who had gone from a nosy, insufferable, torturous arse in our school days to a man who wanted nothing more than to redeem himself."

She turned to her Healer to see wet eyes. He sniffed, composing himself, and looked back at his keyboard. "You think he's deserving of it?"

"Him more than anyone else I know."

"Then it's good enough for me - not that I'll remember this in five minutes time. You're free to go. Since you're not related to him, I'm not supposed to release his information, but since you've been listed as next of kin, I'll do it anyway. Plus, I won't remember telling you the number. You could have just taken a peek over the nurse's station... Floor twelve. Room twelve-oh-three."

Hermione slid off the bed, searching for her shoes and attempting to walk before they were fully on her feet. She'd been given a hospital-issue dressing gown to wear, and she covered her shoulders with it before heading for the door. When she reached for the knob, she heard him say her name again.

"Miss Granger, wait. I just wanted to say... it's been an honor serving you today. Being able to work with a true war hero like yourself is something I wish I could remember for the rest of my career."

She smiled. "Then I hope they only erase your knowledge of secure information, and not what you did for work today. Thank you."

She slid out the door and towards the elevator, pressing the button to go up and then rushing past two doors to stand in front of his. She reached for the handle but then hesitated and looked inside. These doors were charmed, and because she'd been given the room number she'd be able to look inside, as would any staff who had seen the room number and patient name - Ben Holloway - on their boards. He looked like Ben again, only he looked about as pale as Draco. He had dark rings around his eyes, and his chest seemed deflated, weak. Just two hours ago she'd been snogging this man at the New Year's countdown. Now he was in a hospital room, he'd fainted, and she was still wearing this stupid dress.

She turned the handle, slipping through the door and shutting it behind her. There was no one in here with him, but he was hooked up to machines. Hermione didn't know terribly much about wizarding medicine, but most of these machines were muggle technology - his heart rate was a little low, his breathing a little slow, but he looked alright.

"I'm waiting." He grinned slowly, though he didn't fully open his eyes. "I know that somehow, someway, you're going to justify being able to chastise me for fainting."

"I'm going to chastise the daylights out of you when I feel you're up for it. But for now... for now, I just thank Merlin you're safe." She crossed the room, sitting on the bed beside him. She didn't wait for an invitation and carefully moved a wire aside to lay next to him, her head on his rising and falling chest. She'd thought he could die, what if she'd lost him? She couldn't lose any more people, not once she'd already come so far.

"Are you finally going to tell me what's wrong? What all your research is about? Why you've been coughing into tissues and saving them?"

"You've noticed that? Wow, Granger is stalking me. Interesting. However, now's still not the right time. Soon, but not now."

She huffed, sitting up. "Then next time you decide to pass out and start transforming back into..." She lowered her voice to a whisper to say his former name, _"Draco M_ _alfoy_ , next time you do that I'll just say it's _not the right time_ to apparate you to St. Mungo's before the whole world finds out who you are."

At this his eyes flashed open, and he swung his head around to look at her. "You're joking."

"I'd thought your Healer or nurses would tell you. No, I'm not joking. Shortly after you... after the countdown, I looked back at you to find you on the floor, bashing your head against the tile. Your hair started changing almost immediately, and someone screamed when she saw you fell - but Harry grabbed your shoulders out of nowhere and helped me drag your limp self into an adjoining room."

"Great, Scarhead saw. Shit."

"Yes, Scarhead saw. Harry saw you transforming and I had to very quickly convince him that I knew who you were and that I was okay with it... apparently he wasn't okay with me being okay with it, or something, because things got pretty weird in the few moments before I apparated here. I remember landing her and then everything went black - apparently I was screaming my head off and even in my sleep, I was trying to get up and find you. They restrained me, my Healer made me say a joke oath to be released, and then I almost made him cry before I left."

She watched his face change from shock, to amusement, to confusion. "I don't follow."

"The rest of it isn't that important. I'll talk to Harry."

"You'd better."

They sat in silence for a few moments before he cleared his throat. "I lied. I've got to tell you at least part. It's been killing me."

She sat up and tried crossing her legs under her, but the dress wouldn't allow it. She quickly ran into the bathroom and traded the beaded gown for the thin cloth dressing gown she'd been given and covered herself completely before emerging again. She hung the dress over the back of a chair and rejoined him on the bed, taking one of his large, warm hands in both of hers. He let out a long, slow breath and looked up at her.

"I'm sick. Possibly terminally. It's been... it started in the war. As soon as I started running to leave, a friend of my fathers hit me with a curse. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt or seen before, and that's unusual considering where I spent half of my holidays. My symptoms vary, and on top of that they fluctuate. Better or worse on certain days, and with certain experiments. At this point it's a rush to save my own life, or to die trying."

Hermione pondered the facts for a moment before stating the only thing she now knew for sure. "That's where you work, then. You work with blood. That's why you're always covered in it. You research your own problems. It's your own."

He nodded silently, reaching his arm out to pull her back down to lay with him. She wanted to ask him more, to know more, but a lump formed in her throat. She could cry, if she were used to that sort of thing. She realized she should have known this much all along, but hadn't made the proper connections until he'd just admitted what he had. He was sick. She wanted to ask about that race against his own death, but she didn't want to know the answer just yet. It wasn't the first of their secrets, and it wouldn't be their last. She only prayed that they might have less secrets and more truth in what time they had left - and that they had more time left than her anxious mind would let her believe.

He told her that his nurse had left just before she'd come in, and that he'd have to stay until the morning shift started at six before a specialized Healer could come in, run a few tests on him, and send him home. There was nothing else they could do. He was the only one who could save himself, now. He brushed a lock of curls back from her face, let his hand come to rest on her cheek.

"Go home, change. Shower, if you want. I'll be back home... at my flat, shortly after six or seven. Can we have breakfast? First meal of the new year? First sort of date?"

She smiled, leaning into his hand. "I'd love to. Let me know when you're home and showered if you want, and I'll head over."

She grabbed the gown from the back of the chair and headed downstairs to the floo. Once there, she took a floo to a small nearby wizard shop and then walked the two blocks to her flat. She let herself in, set the dress down on top of one of her six boxes, and sighed. This wasn't home. This hadn't ever felt like home. She'd convinced herself that she was doing so well on her own... but had she been? Or had she just been surviving, waiting for the right time to return to staying with Ben? She rummaged through a box at her feet for white paper and a pen and began a note to her flat manager.

_To whom it may concern,_

_I, Hermione Granger, am giving official fourteen days notice to terminate my rental agreement on my flat, number twelve. I apologize for the minimal notice, but I have found a more permanent home that I will be leaving for immediately. The last two weeks rent will be delivered at move out.  
_

_Thank you  
_

_Hermione J Granger  
_

She slipped the note in her pocket and packed a small bag with essentials, making a mental note to drop it in the box later that day when she'd come back for the rest of her things. She didn't belong here, she knew where she belonged. In a nice kitchen in a nice flat, overlooking the city, making tea and toast for a man who, later, she could make a joke about having fainted simply from kissing her. Home, then, wasn't in a flat of her own with six boxes and a toothbrush, but with someone who she cared about and who cared about her. She apparated on the spot and landed in his entryway, opening her eyes on the one place she felt completely at home - now all that was left to do was to wait for the person who made it so.


	16. Chapter 16

"No, I don't want a damned wheelchair. I'm fine."

The snappy attitude, he knew, was unlike Ben. But it was very much like the man he'd briefly been that morning, and the nurse knew that. She huffed, wheeling the chair back into the row of them by the floo, and shook her head.

"Fine. But it is hospital policy that I _make_ you take one. But if you clearly don't need one..."

He knew she was mocking him - he was holding himself up on the information desk. Of course he needed a chair. But was he about to give up that easily? He tried letting go of the desk and found his legs gave out underneath him, causing him to fall flat on his bum. The nurse looked down at him, hands on her wide hips. He rolled his eyes.

"Alright, alright. I'll take a chair. It's only a few feet, anyway..."

Once loaded up and prepped for release, he started to feel anxious. He'd call her as soon as he got home, and ask her to come over. The last few hours in the cold, dim hospital room had been spent going through facts in his head - his last toxicity count, his change in appearance, the last of the experiments he'd been able to do before released for the holidays. He'd come up with a few new tidbits on his own, and the specialist had revealed even a little more, but... well, he'd wait until he got home to discuss those with her. It was time she knew what he had been up to, and what exactly was wrong with him. She deserved the truth.

The nurse lead him to the floo, and with a rush of power and green flame they were spinning, falling until they landed soundly in his fireplace. His apartment was silent. Well, nearly silent. His kettle was whistling on the stove top, signaling that water was ready and boiling. What?

He shouldn't have had to guess - a head of wild brown curls popped around the corner, eyes wide.

"Just a minute! Water's on, bread's in, I stopped by and got some jam a few minutes ago, looked like you were out."

A moment later she came sauntering out of the kitchen, her cheeks red. She had obviously been doing a lot of busy work around his flat - there was a book on the table set upside-down to save her place, two half-empty cups of tea next to it. His kitchen looked as if it had been reorganized. His bedroom door was open, and a small pile of neatly folded laundry sat on his bed next to two clean, fluffy towels.

"Hermione?"

His quizzical look went unanswered by both of the women in the room. His nurse smiled at her, said it was an honor to meet her, and asked if she would be the one caring for the patient. The _patient._ As if he didn't have a name and wasn't sitting right in front of them both in that stupid chair...

"Yes. That'll be me. If he'll have me, of course." She looked at him and he could only nod, his brows furrowed. What did that mean? What was happening?

The nurse conjured a small glass vial and a bit of paper with something written on it. The nurse cleared her throat and spoke.

"Given his... well, both is identity and his degree of illness, the hospital requires an oath be taken by a caretaker. This person is going to accept a few new responsibilities as far as his illness is concerned. It's an oath promising that you'll do your best to care for him, or to bring him back to St. Mungo's if you are at all unsure of his level of health."

Hermione nodded. "That'll still be me. Do I sign, or?"

"It's a small blood oath. Just a drop or two. Plus verbal confirmation." The nurse retrieved her wand from her pocket and held it to Hermione's hand. With one quick spell, a bead of blood grew on Hermione's fingertip, and she let it slide into the vial then held out by the nurse. Had she just made a blood oath? For him? Blood oaths were very serious business, and given his own circumstances he understood the importance and power of blood even more so than most. The nurse instructed Hermione to read from the parchment and then responsibility for Draco's care would transfer to her as long as she felt she could do it. Hermione took a deep breath, pausing only briefly to look at him before reading.

"On this first day of January, I, Hermione Jean Granger, do accept full and total responsibility for the health and care of Ben Andrew Holloway. I will use my knowledge to the best of my ability and if my knowledge does not suffice, I will immediately transport him to or arrange for transport to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. If I go against my promise in this legally and physically binding contract, the blood oath arranged will impede me from doing anything but helping him. My responsibilities in this manner are bound until further notice and I accept that this contract may be for life."

For life? _For life?_ He had no idea what the contract had stated before, but apparently she was unfazed by it. The nurse thanked her, stoppered the vial, and left through the fireplace again, leaving him alone with Hermione. She took a deep breath before looking at him.

"I don't want a lot of talk on what I just did. I wasn't aware it would be that binding until I took it, but I could have stopped any time. I didn't. That's enough on that subject. You owe me a little more of an explanation. Starting with the... countdown."

"First get me out of this awful chair. I'd like to burn it, if at all possible. Makes me look weak..."

He offered his hands to get help up, and as she struggled to help him to the couch she sighed. "No wonder you needed the chair. You can hardly stand."

"That's because, if you don't remember, I was briefly unconscious following... well, we'll get to that later. But starting with my unconsciousness, and what you said in my hospital room, yes. I work with blood. I study it, live it, test it. A lot of the time, it's my own. I was given a chance just like I gave to you - a chance to work in the Department of Mysteries and to solve my own problems. The symptoms began just after the war... after I was hit with the curse. I am still unsure as to who exactly cast it, there was a small group of Death Eaters present when I attempted my escape. It's been showing symptoms like blood poisoning... it's likely very old magic. Ancient stuff."

"That's all you know?"

"Well, no. I know more than that. Are you going to get that kettle?" It had been hissing continuously since he'd arrived, and her eyes flew open.

"Oh! I forgot about that... just a minute." She returned shortly with tea - just how he liked it - and toast.

He took a sip, set it down, and cleared his throat. "I'll get into that later. But I wanted to say something else, first. When I first started studying blood, my curiosity won over. I understand that saving my own life is important, but a vital part of my youth set me on another path of research. I started looking into wizarding blood - pureblood versus muggleborns. Halfbloods, too. I spent weeks on it, observing changes and reactions and composition, and I found out a few facts that should have surprised me, but didn't. In muggle terms... it's an abnormality. Being magical. It's like having a genetic abnormality. A dominant one. Once you've got it, you'll usually pass it to your children - except in the case of squibs, which is natural. And sometimes it's just... well, it's like getting a strange genetic combination. That's like muggleborns. But you've got the abnormality."

"Not perfectly sound, but I'm impressed that you took the time to translate it into muggle definitions. Go on."

"Well, on top of that, there's only one small difference between wizarding blood and muggle blood - it's like a different blood type, like a sub-type. For example, what's your blood type?"

"A positive."

"Okay, and did doctors ever think there was anything wrong with your blood? An iron deficiency, clotting disorder, high or low counts of red or white cells?"

"Anemia, actually. Yes."

"Well, that's the wizarding part of your blood. Muggles don't know what it is, so their technology picks it up as an imbalance in one direction or another. So while you're A positive, you're actually _wizarding_ A positive. If you ever needed blood, you _could_ take muggle blood but it wouldn't work quite as well as wizarding blood. Which works, obviously, because anyone who would donate at St. Mungo's would be magical. That's why it never really came up before."

She nodded, sipping at her tea, and he felt another truth bubbling at the surface.

"So, I guess I should say... I humbly and fully apologize for any time I'd ever insulted your blood. If I'd have known what I know now - that it was just a ridiculous, false prejudice my parents forced on me... I'd never have said a word."

"Well, you did. But we're past that, clearly." She smiled weakly, setting her tea down. "But there are still some things you have left to tell me. I know you're sick, but... how sick? How bad is it?" Her voice got quieter and quieter as she said it, as if she wanted to not ask him at all - but the truth had to come out eventually, he knew that.

"Honestly? There are no documented cases like this. Not modern, anyway. There are old records, ancient really, of people suffering from what might be what I've got. It's likely a curse of some sort, but we're not sure how. I've performed hundreds of experiments on my own blood. I usually just take a vial or two a day and study it, but then sometimes I spill - hence the shirts - and have to retake it. It makes me weaker. I'm not... not as strong as I used to be. Not even close. And it's getting worse, obviously. I think it was... well, last night. At the countdown. I think we maybe both knew it was coming... but it sort of short-circuited my heart. I fainted."

He could see her trying to hold back a small smile. "Glad to know I have that effect on you."

He rolled his eyes, swatting at her arm before sobering again. "But in truth? My prognosis isn't good. I've got months left, maybe. I worked out the numbers the other day, and it looks like if I don't get this solved in time... well, with how my blood toxicity has been increasing, I've got until July before it kills me. But I think, given my background, I'm less afraid of death than most people would be. I've seen so many die in cruel, unforgiving ways. But they were just one in a line of many. My death wouldn't be that painful, torturous - it would be uncomfortable, for sure, but I would probably die in my sleep. It would be quick. But I've got enough research that maybe... well, maybe I'll be able to save myself in time."

She looked at him, before closing her eyes over her tea again. It was a lot to handle, he knew. When he'd found out for himself, it had seemed so... shocking. Death. July. Blood. Blood. Blood.

"I had a nightmare a few nights ago - in the old ones everyone used to burn up and die. In this one everyone did - everyone I knew, burned up and turned to piles of ash on the ground. But then everyone rose back up. Nobody was quite the same, nobody was quite whole again, but it got me thinking about all of that. Life and death and the earth."

He nodded. "I know what you mean. I've been thinking about it too. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust... it's a circle. We've come from the earth in some way, from the very beginning of time maybe. From the remains of some old civilization, or from the stars. And we'll all return there some day."

She nodded. "I've seen so many people burned to death in my dreams... and I realize, when I wake of course, that they're not actually dying. They're not in pain. But that somehow my mind is trying to convey to me that they've just gone to be part of the Earth again. That's where... that's where Ron's gone. He was raised in a rickety old house, tilling the garden and earth around it with his mother and family, and now he's laid to rest in earth again. It's comforting, when you think of it like that."

"It's one of the only things that's been comforting to me since I've been relocated. Well, I mean, except..." He looked at her, and she just nodded again. He knew he meant _her,_ without saying it. He let out a sigh. "But I used to fear it - I used to fear that I would die alone, that I wouldn't adequately use this second chance I've been given. That I'd live alone and die alone and that I wouldn't be able to repent or to make up for any of the horrible things I'd done and said as Draco Malfoy. But then I met you, and... well, Ben met you. I'd already known you. And I saw that you were just as afraid as I was, of something I didn't yet know. And so I've kept you as close as you've allowed me to. My only friend, and... more than that. And I've made my decision, if you'll take it. If I don't succeed, in my research... if I'm going to die come July. I want to spend the rest of the time I have here, with you. If you'll have me."

She chortled, setting down her tea for the umpteenth time. She had barely had a sip, but he had known for quite some time that it was a thing of comfort, for her. She looked at him, a glint in her eyes. "I just took a blood oath to take care of you, with no expiration date. Do you really think I would say anything but yes?"

He felt himself smile despite the sadness and fear surrounding them. He gestured for her to come sit beside him and she did, leaning her body against his own, resting her hand on his chest. At least, then, he could have this.

A shrill ringing came from somewhere near the kitchen, and Hermione cursed. "That'll be my mobile. Given that only you and Harry know it, and given what Harry knows now... he probably stayed up all night, probably so worried. It's barely after six-thirty, and he's calling now..."

She stood, dashing to the kitchen to pick up the phone.

"Hi, Harry it's me. Yes, I'm fine. I don't want to talk about this on the phone... no. No, of course not. There's a lot you need to know... mhmm. Yes. Uh, I'm free now. Sure. Ten minutes. That coffee shop we went to a few times, summer after sixth year. The place you spewed coffee all over. Yeah, it opened at six, we're fine. Yes. I'll see you in ten."

She clicked the phone shut and sighed. "Harry wants to talk. I figure it's the least I can do, to explain things to him."

He lifted his hand, waving her towards the guest bedroom. "Change and go. Make sure he hasn't said anything to anyone. If this gets out, I'll be relocated and I won't be able to get my same job back. I'll die for sure."

* * *

She hadn't thought about it like that. If he were to be relocated, not only would she lose him to some other location in the world, but wherever he was, he'd die. She ran into the bedroom, throwing on jeans, a sweater, boots, and her heaviest coat. Snow was coming down in earnest, but she couldn't risk a phone call being intercepted or Harry accidentally letting something slip to anyone. She had to get to him now and tell him everything.

She called out that she'd be back as soon as she could, and practically jumped through the floo. In moments she was at a tiny shop owned by a wizard across the corner, and walked to the shop in moments. Harry was waiting just inside, and as soon as she entered he pounced.

"What was that? You've known? Tell me everything... Hermione, I need to know..."

"Not now. Not here. Just trust me." She reached out and grabbed his arm, waiting for him to nod his acceptance before turning on the spot and apparating them away. They landed in the living room of her parent's house, and she quickly conjured two chairs from upstairs, setting them around the fireplace. She lit it with her wand, moved her chair even closer, and then looked at Harry, who was still standing and staring at her as if she'd started speaking in tongues.

"Sit. Please." She sighed. "And Happy New Year, Harry."

"Yeah, Happy New Year." He pushed the chair closer to hers and sat, folding his hands in his lap and twiddling his fingers. He wasn't comfortable, she could tell. She knew there was a lot to explain.

"Where would you like me to start?"

"From the beginning. Very beginning. The postcard in the mailbox."

She'd almost forgotten about it. A meeting place, a first glance. A slight initial attraction, even if she didn't even trust him then. "Well, I met him. We met at my favorite tea shop bookstore... he'd seen me there. He said he'd heard you and Ginny bickering about me at the ministry dinner. That he knew I was struggling. He tried to write me a check for, well, a lot of money. But I wouldn't take it, even though he said it would be easier in the end. Funny, hmm."

She looked into the fire, which was now crackling and warming her feet. She kicked off her boots - something told her they could be here a while. and she began again.

"He got me the job in the Department of Mysteries. He offered to let me floo in at his flat, since I was at that point still avoiding everyone I knew. I accepted. The first morning, he had to let me in and allow me through the wards. He used his birth name... he said the words. Draco Abraxas Malfoy. But it didn't work. He'd already signed the paperwork and I, at the time, was too pathetic and tired and alone to turn anyone down. I told him he could be Voldemort incarnate and I'd still floo into work with him, and I'll be damned if Draco's name wasn't second or third on that list. But at that point... it had only been a few weeks, but his treatment of me - Ben's treatment of me - had already made up for Draco's, tenfold. Draco's mistreatments had been silly childhood taunts and hexes. Ben got me a job that is really doing wonders for me, and helped me avoid people when I wanted but urged me to get back out there when he thought I was ready. He wants to take care of me, Harry."

She looked into the face of her best friend, but nothing had changed. He was still staring at his hands, his thumbs running circles around each other.

"Harry, you have to realize. Ben may have once been Draco Malfoy, but he's not anymore. Ben is... well, he's an entirely different person. He cares about me, and I care about him too. Quite a bit. He wants me to be my best and to get back to being myself, but knows that I have to work at my own pace and has respected me and my decisions throughout. But there's more, too. I've got my nightmares, and I thought that was bad. But Ben... Ben's sick. He's really sick. I can't explain any more to you, or give you specifics. It has to deal with his work in the Department of Mysteries."

"Do _you_ know what he does down there?" It had been the first time Harry had spoken since sitting, but he still wouldn't look at her.

"Yes, I do. I'm his... I'm his person. He was reluctant at first, thought I'd finally realize who he had really been before and leave him and take his secrets. But I didn't - I won't. Last night, when he fainted - it's a complication of his illness. That's all I can tell you. And while he's in relocation, his physical attributes are changed by a spell that lasts through sleep. Clearly though, they don't last through unconsciousness. And something like twenty total memories will have to be wiped, all people who were just in St. Mungo's at the wrong time. Now, you... you're my friend. And he knows that you know. I'm not going to have your memory wiped if you don't want me to."

Harry shook his head. "No, I... I think, somehow, I feel more comfortable knowing who he was. Something always seemed off about him. Now I know what it was."

Hermione sighed. This wasn't going well. Harry still thought there was something _wrong_ with Ben. Like he was just Draco in someone else's skin. They sat in silence for some time before she looked up to find him staring at her.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"You didn't tell anyone, did you? Not Ginny or the air around you or anyone at all, right?"

"Not a soul."

"It... it needs to stay that way. I can't have him be relocated because his identity gets out. I need you to swear on something important. You know I don't take these things lightly, but I can't risk this."

Harry nodded. "I swear to you. On everyone I've lost so far... I don't want to lose you, too. And I don't want you to lose anyone else, either."

She could tell how much he meant it by the look in his eyes, and that he was thinking of Ron. She was, too. She missed his laugh, the frustrated look on his face when he couldn't get a spell right, the way he'd help his mother with dishes or cleaning and smile and chat with her even though he acted like he really hated it. He'd been a good friend - a good man. But she'd lost him. They all had.

Harry let out a breath. "Do you trust him? I mean, _really_ trust him?"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah. I do. I wouldn't have trusted the person he used to be. But Ben Holloway, I trust him one hundred percent."

"Then I guess I'll have to trust your decision. But just... promise me you'll take care of yourself."

"I promise. I'm still having trouble but I'm a big girl, Harry."

They smiled at each other, content to spend just a few more moments in each others company. She could tell he was still highly unhappy with her decision - with her trusting 'Ben' - but that he was willing to keep his mouth shut as long as Ben made her happy. After a little while longer they both stood. Harry ruffled his hair, grimacing.

"I've got to... Ginny's due at my flat fifteen minutes ago. I told her I was running to the market so I'll have to pick up something on the way home. Are you free any time soon?"

"Probably. Call me whenever... whenever you're comfortable. And we'll plan something." _Comfortable._ More like whenever Ginny wasn't around to harp on him.

They said their goodbyes and then apparated within the house. Hermione landed in the entryway to Ben's flat again - back home. She smiled, but that quickly faded when she saw him sitting in the exact same spot on the couch, cold tea in hand.

"You haven't moved?"

"Haven't... haven't felt up to it. No."

He was still so pale. Should they have released him? But she considered the facts - they didn't know what was wrong with him. He was getting worse. What could they do, hold onto him until he... she didn't want to think about that now.

"Tell me more." She sat beside him, dragging a blanket over them both.

He sighed. "I don't know any more. I've told you everything I know. Well, most of it. There are a few specificities, as far as research and experimentation." He pulled the blanket farther over himself and lifted his arm, creating a space for her to lean into him. She could hear his heartbeat through his chest, slow but steady.

"When I found out I was sick, I went into relocation. I could have run, but... I'd been feeling so strange. I knew I needed help, and with that face and name I couldn't have found help anywhere. I knew this was my chance to save and/or redeem myself. I emptied my parents vaults - they couldn't access the funds anyway, and I could use the money in my new life - and signed my name. It was almost that simple. You know the rest. But you've got to understand what kind of responsibility you're taking. I started this to help you, but you're going to have to make sacrifices for me if you take all of this."

"Who else would? Tell me one other person you know who would accept this responsibility and I'll hand it over to them in a heartbeat. Actually, no, I wouldn't even then. I know what I'm doing."

He let out a breath, and she traced his ribs with the tip of her finger. They didn't stick out too much except when he laid like this on the couch.

"Well, then I've got to give you this." It was a thin black bangle that felt like plastic. "It's an alert bracelet. I picked this one because the other one was a gaudy aluminum chain that looked cheap... at least this looks nice. But it's what it does that makes it special - now that I'm getting worse, and that I've reached this point, I could faint at any time. We're hoping it won't get to that point again - I think it was just the shock of the moment that set me off - but if I do faint, this will buzz. It'll vibrate so hard your arm will start to shake. And it's unique in one more way, too. It's been charmed to work with my body and location. Once it buzzes, you can use it like a PortKey. Just grab hold with your other hand, and it'll take you to wherever I am. You'll have to freeze everyone in sight - anyone who may have possibly seen me - and try and get their names down. Before you can even take me to St. Mungo's you'd have to alert ministry personnel - I'll program that number into your phone later - and wait until one of them shows up to do damage control. They'll wipe everyone's memory but ours, then you'll be able to take me to the hospital. It's a lot of work, on the chance that I faint again. This could start happening often, it could never happen again. There's zero certainty."

"I'm still not going back on my promise. I'm not going back on any of it. I mean it. And... about last night... I meant that, too."

He flushed. She nearly giggled at the sight, but it was nice to see that he was still as nervous about it as she was. "Yes. Last night. That was..."

"Good. And Ben, just... we'll find a way to save you. Somehow. And I didn't really get a chance to tell you this last night, but... Happy New Year."

He grinned, raising up to look at her a little better and plant a small kiss on her forehead. "Happy New Year. If it's anything like last night, I can't wait to do it again."

She felt the corners of her lips pull up into a shy smile. "Oh? Well, good."

"Yes, I have a feeling I'd like to do that again next year, minus the fainting."

"Because you'll be alive and well?"

He raised his brows slightly but looked away, pulling her into his side. "That, too."

He said nothing more, leaving her to ponder what exactly else he meant.


	17. Chapter 17

It felt similar to a return to Hogwarts, but this place was far different from the school she'd known and loved. The Department of Mysteries was almost a polar opposite in the way that while it may still have high, sweeping archways and stone walls, this was a place of pure work. There was no laughter here (unless of course they had a subdepartment for something like that, which she didn't doubt) and no childish games. The Department of Mysteries, Dream Division, was a haven in a different way. Two weeks had passed without Hermione being able to work on her own case at all, but her files were now still neatly piled on her desk where she'd left them.

"Oh, finally." She smiled, greeting them almost as old friends. These were notes, observations, possible answers to her problem. Her nightmares had been unrelenting over holidays, but had still been changing. Gone were the days of pure gore, of nothing but blood and pain. These new ones, of course, had been psychological. Some of them had left her in a daze, all day, trying to think of what they meant or what her brain was trying to tell her. She took another glance at the even stonework beneath her feet. She could barely make out the edges of some stones, and couldn't make out any of them on the ceiling. The lighting was too low. But, at times, there was something almost calming about the dark. At least she was awake, during this portion, and the dim lighting kept her from feeling frantic.

In the end, she'd given up on trying to think too much on her problems. Holidays were holidays, and she doubted she'd solve her problem on her first day back, anyway. She heard a voice calling her from the side of the room - her boss, John. She scurried back towards his office, relieved to see him again. He'd been such a tremendous help in her research so far, and she wanted to tell him about some of her latest nightmares.

"Mr Hendricks, good to see you."

"Hermione, dear, remember. John is fine." He smiled, gesturing towards the chair opposite him. "Please, do come in. Two weeks of holidays must have felt like so long."

"Ages." She smiled again, sitting and launching into descriptions of her latest nightmares. The ashes, the rising. She could almost see it all again in her head.

_It was Harry, but he wasn't like himself. He was controlled - her mind knew instantly who was controlling him, almost with a laugh. He had greeted her, his usual cheerful self. But something was wrong. His eyes too wide, his smile too big. And while she'd tried to pretend she didn't know he was being controlled, it was difficult. Her phone rang a dozen times, each with a different text message, all from Harry. Almost all of them just contained Draco's name. Just his name. But it was enough. In a flash, his lips were at her ear._

_"I know everything."_

"And then I woke up. It's like... I _know_ that he knows everything about my, ah, little secret. So why did this frighten me so much if he's already sworn he won't tell a soul?"

"Do you still have reserves? With Harry? Does anything feel unfinished, between you?"

She considered that a moment, but no longer. "Yes. Very much so. For the first month or so after the war, he was the only person I'd speak to. And even in months after that, he was the only person I could see without screaming, and I didn't know why. With everyone else I got that panic, I saw visions... but with Harry, I was able to squash it down, just to see him. Just to talk to him. He's... he's my best friend, always has been." A watery smile crossed her face, but she straightened. "Maybe I just need to talk to him about something normal. Maybe all of this secretive nonsense is clouding my mind."

"It's possible." John leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "Did you go anywhere over hols?"

"No. I was... kept in town. I have a very unique responsibility."

"I can't fathom. Well, take notes. Record everything. And let me know if there's more. We're gaining another member this afternoon, someone that has been brought in specifically for your case."

Hermione hesitated. There had been something else, but it was probably just left over from a dream, right? "Of course."

She stood and left the room without another word. John was particularly good at reading people, and he'd have known more if she'd stayed in the room any longer. The truth was that something else had come along, too, and it was far from meaningless runoff from her nightmares. This was something she had come to fear worse than the nightmares. It had happened just before she'd left Harry, just before they'd apparated out of her parents' sitting room. She'd seen him turning, twisting, and in the last moments before Harry had disappeared, the green eyes she'd stared into just moments before had gone red. Garishly red, and bloodshot. Voldemort's eyes.

Days before that she'd thought she'd seen the whip of a dark cloak around a corner - something she'd always associated with Severus Snape. The first two she had thought to have been random, of course - a trick of the bad lighting in Harry's eyes, someone's actual long coat slipping around a corner. But the third one, that very morning, had confirmed it. She'd been in Ben's bathroom, pinning some of her hair back for work. When she'd looked away from the mirror to grab another pin, everything had been normal, but when she looked back into the mirror to fix her hair she saw her hands, but they weren't hers - they were cursed, as Dumbledore's had been. Gnarled, nearly blackened, crumbling, the long fingers jutting out at odd angles and the nails deformed, falling off as she watched. She'd held in a scream, looked at her hands out of the mirror. Perfectly normal. And a second glance into the mirror confirmed it - her hands were fine.

She'd been seeing things. She'd been having visions outside of sleep, outside of her nightmares. What with Ben collapsing and appearing like Draco, she hadn't had the heart to bring it up. His problems were enough, he didn't need to deal with hers. But it worried her. If her nightmares were seeping into her waking hours, how long was it before she had longer visions? Before she had daydreams that spanned anything longer than a few moments? Before she went mad?

* * *

"Miss Granger?"

This voice was younger, the accent more lilting. Hermione raised her head from her notes, which she'd been obsessing over for the previous five hours. "Hmm?"

"I'm Carrick. I've been brought in from up North to help with your nightmares, hopefully. John tells me you've been having them daily." With a flick of his wand, a chair slid itself across the room to land under him just as he sat down. A duplicate of Hermione's files and notes was in his hands, and he was flipping through the papers mumbling to himself. He was young, though not as young as herself. Perhaps twenty-six or twenty-seven, and seemingly purely gold. His hair was gold, his skin was warm toned, and his eyes were a pale golden green, an unusual sort of color. The small bit of scruff on his chin shone gold too, and the overall appearance was a little strange.

"Yes. Every night since the war, except for two nights. The night directly after, and that's probably because my mind was too shocked to dream at all and I hardly slept more than ten minutes at a time, and just once a few months ago. I'd been given a potion for a while that was supposed to keep me from sleeping at all, and it worked temporarily. But after a few tries, it just didn't work as well. I'd feel so sluggish the next day, and then I'd doze off here or as soon as I got home, and I'd have another nightmare. I still used it a few times, but it seems that every night that I sleep, I dream. Never pleasant."

"Ah. And in your own words, Miss Granger, how would you describe the progression of your nightmares from the point of view strictly of a patient, and not as a research analyst?"

She hadn't really thought of it, since she'd started the job. "They started with fire, and with crumbling rock, like the final battle. Then I could feel things - the blood, the heat, the flesh, the pain. As time has passed, they've gotten worse. Well, they've always been bad, but they're more real, I can feel and smell and hear and taste them. That's not normal, is it?"

Carrick's quill was flying across parchment, and his head shook almost imperceptibly. "No, Miss Granger, it is not. Nightmares are usually irregular and definitely not felt with all of the senses. Is that all that's plaguing you at the moment, or is there more?" His head snapped up, his eyes staring into hers. Gold and green with black pupils that seemed to be able to read her mind.

"I... no. Not all. There have been instances during the day, too. I don't want to mention them to John, in case he thinks me unfit for work, but they're recent."

"Can you give me examples?" She went over the list. The cloak. Harry's eyes. Her hands. Carrick nodded, taking more notes. "I see. Well, Miss Granger, I can't give you a definite answer yet, but I have a theory. In your own words as a witch, what would you believe to be the cause of your nightmares?"

"I could hardly say, myself. A hex? A curse? Some dark magic, of course, something that I've never heard of or even read about, and I've read plenty."

"Dark, yes. And would you say it feels like someone planted a seed in your head? One that has been growing and changing?"

"I've never thought about it that way, Carrick, but indeed it does. It started small - but I never knew at the beginning how bad it would get. It's evolved."

"Precisely. Now, if you'd planted something that you wanted to stay, what precautions would you put up against it?"

"Protective spells, perhaps. Enchantments."

"Things that, if you weren't alone in your endeavors, might include other people who felt the same way about what you're trying to hide?"

Hermione furrowed her brow. "I think you've lost me."

Carrick scraped his chair across the rocky ground until he was sitting just inches from her, his head bent low. His face was more animated now, and Hermione understood what had seemed so vexing about him before. He was a research analyst, but not one like she'd ever known before. This was a man that was clearly special in his field - someone who took immense time to study every nook and fact about every subject he was given. Now that she looked, she could see it in his face - worry lines, and wrinkles around his face from squinting, twisting his features in thought. He was an intellectual before a worker, and somehow that made her more comfortable. He set his clipboard down on her desk, careful not to mess up her papers, and leaned forward, hands on his knees.

"Miss Granger, I think I've got a very good idea of what's happening to you. I think that someone with a personal vendetta against you, or someone who knew of you, planted a very dark seed in your head - one that's been messing with your every thought, sleeping and waking. John mentioned before that you've suffered from paranoia and anxiety since you've started having the nightmares, and I think that was all intentional. What I was trying to lead on with is this - I think that this seed that has been planted can only be removed by someone with a similar mindset. You couldn't have your best friend, or your caring boss, or even your friendly neighborhood research analyst fix the problem because we're involved in your sufferings. In some distant way or another, we care.

"There are old hexes and curses that survive even the death of the witch or wizard that cast the spell. Since we're assuming that, we assume that it goes by other old Dark Magic cliches of good versus evil. I'm saying that if someone who wasn't thoroughly invested in your well-being planted the seed, then someone equally as detached can help. Maybe it can't be removed entirely - that's the problem with old magic outliving the caster, is that it never really goes away - but maybe your mind can be tricked into a new truth, a new state of being."

Hermione thought for a moment about what he'd just said, committing the ideas to memory. "So you're saying that it doesn't necessarily have to be someone 'evil', just someone that isn't invested in making me feel better, directly?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. I'm not sure about specifics - whether or not it could be a stranger, or whether it would have to be someone you already know. But whoever it is, and whenever it is, it's a bit of a stretch anyway, but it's my only answer so far. I work mostly in theory, and theory is our best bet right now. We'd have to literally translate the consciousness of that person into your mind."

"So I'd have someone else in there with me? Someone that could, what, say a few magic words and trick my brain into not having nightmares and visions anymore?"

The quiver of his lip almost hinted at a smile, but it was gone in a flash. "If you haven't forgotten, Miss Granger, you're a witch. A few magic words can mean a world of difference. I'll be in touch. In the mean time, if you'd like to discuss any new developments, I'll be stopping by your desk daily. Have a lovely afternoon."

Carrick stood and left, a bounce in his step. He took pride in this, of thinking of things that other people couldn't. She knew that sort of attitude anywhere - it was precisely what had gotten her made fun of at Hogwarts. She liked him already - strange, enthusiastic, and somewhat shy. And best of all, he hadn't mentioned the war, Harry, or Ron even once. He'd treated her as if she were any witch in the building. Maybe she could call him a friend some day. Maybe he could fix her head. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

* * *

"Where should we go for lunch?"

If anyone else heard this question, they'd name a place or a time. Between Hermione and 'Ben', it was more of a choice between a muggle or wizarding location, depending on the subject of intended conversation.

"Wizarding, definitely somewhere wizarding. I've got a few things I want to mention about a certain war that muggles might not quite understand."

"Got it. Leaky Cauldron then?"

"I'd love some soup."

A wide smile split across his face. "You have impeccable taste. The Leaky Cauldron has a dozen soups like Leaky House Soup, House, House Soup, Soup, Soup Soup, and the like."

"I'll never get over that sign. Strangest thing I'd ever seen, as a girl."

The two apparated a short distance and took a small table in a more private corner of the room. Ben pulled a napkin from his pocket and coughed into it, but came away with a surprised but pleased look. "No blood. What a treat."

Hermione smiled weakly, pushing her hair behind her shoulders. "We should all be so lucky."

After ordering and a drink each, Hermione and Ben began talking about what they'd been working on in hushed tones. When that subject ended, Hermione twisted her watch around her wrist a moment before Ben sighed.

"You're worried about something, aren't you? I know that look. Biting your lip..."

Hermione returned a sigh with twice the gusto. "Not worried, no. Just... a bit confused. I wanted to talk to you about something that happened on New Years."

"The fainting? I've been meaning to apologize for that. It was just my... I think something about my heart, I got excited or something. Bad health and all that. Well worth it, though." He winked. "I had an odd sort of joke in my head in which I said that our... what had happened, had bored me to sleep, but the joke's really not all that good."

"I appreciate the humor, but no, it's something that happened after you were already out cold."

"Harry saw. I know that."

"Yes, but a little more happened than just that."

"Well, I already assume he wasn't happy with what he saw."

"It was more than that. After he expressed his doubts and fears, he said something, and I don't know what to think of it. About... how much he cared about me. About how Ginny shouldn't have been an issue, because he wanted _me_ there. With plenty of emphasis, almost like... almost like he was saying he'd have rather had me there than Ginny. But that's absurd."

Ben sniggered, and for a moment she was reminded of the deprecating attitude that Draco Malfoy had been famous for. "What's absurd is how blind you are about that little situation." Ben straightened in his seat, but he held all the pomp and sass of Draco. "Hermione, don't tell me you don't know what's going on there."

"I don't know what you're talking about." But even as she said it, she knew that wasn't true.

"Let me put it in something easier to understand, then. You told me, months ago, about something Ron said before he left you and Harry, before the war. 'I get it, you choose him'. The Weasley's all seem to have that problem, then. There's always another option." Conversation paused for a moment as two large bowls of soup were unceremoniously dropped at their table.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you know that Ron thought you were choosing Harry for more than just his stance on tactics in taking down Voldemort. And that Ginny has probably been feeling like Harry has been choosing you, though that's based entirely in truth. He _cares_ about you, Hermione, in that special sort of way that any man cares for a woman he has feelings for."

"You're saying Harry has feelings for me?"

"I'm saying Ginny knows how much Harry cares about you. She may think he chose you back then, she may think he's choosing you now, over whatever picture of unhappiness she has for the two of them. She thinks he cares more about you than he does about her, and she's right."

Hermione sealed her lips, thinking for a moment. That was a rather good reason for Ginny to be acting like she was. Perhaps the girls dislike of her ran farther than just her nightmares. Harry had always cared a lot about her, but perhaps as his feelings for her had changed, someone else had noticed. Someone else that later became his second choice. Someone that would have liked to see Hermione out of the picture.

"You think Harry would have chosen me, if I'd have had feelings for him? If I hadn't been so messed up over losing Ron, and if I hadn't been struggling so badly with my nightmares that I could hardly notice a thing like Harry having feelings for me?"

"Something that would seem strange to you anyway, and something that you'd hardly have reason to think about, given your situation. I think that's exactly what he would have done. Chosen you, I mean. But relax. I know it seems like something that's going to end the world, but it's not. When Ginny hears you're with someone else, she'll calm down. And when Harry sees how dedicated you are to this, he'll back off too." He stretched his hands across the table, snaking them around the soup that was now getting cold. He grabbed her hands, rubbing his thumb against her palm.

"You're sure of it?"

"Anything else would be ridiculous." He raised her hand to his lips for a kiss. "Let's eat before the soup freezes. God forbid the landlord turn on the heater for a few moments, or light a fire, or anything normal people would do when it's this cold outside."

Hermione thought for only a moment more on the subject. Draco was right - things would settle. Wouldn't they?

As they rose from lunch and stepped outside to return to the Ministry building, a camera flash went off in front of them. "Hermione Granger! Over here! Smile for The Prophet!"

Hermione stretched her lips into what could hardly be called a smile - more like a grimace - and nodded in the direction of the photographer. Ben tried not to laugh.

"My little celebrity. It would appear that someone has been looking for you."

"The Prophet can't have much left to say, I'm afraid. Come on, let's get back to work before I set that camera on fire."

Ben glanced down, pulling her around the corner and laughing. "You look like you could set the cameraman on fire."

"Don't test me." But a smile played at the corners of her lips. There wasn't much that could be printed about her that the world didn't already know, anyway.

* * *

The evening edition of The Daily Prophet had landed in Ben's window with a slap, the owl delivering it eying her curiously. She paid the bird and unfolded the paper, calling Ben out of his bedroom from the sitting room.

"Ben? I thought you'd unsubscribed from this awful bit of... oh, no." The picture wasn't so bad, at least. She only looked mildly uncomfortable. The face of Ben Holloway, on the other hand, looked downright pleasant. He'd all but posed for the camera. There was no major headline, but a smaller line underneath the photograph that clearly illustrated Hermione gripping Ben's arm and trying her hardest to escape the photographer.

_When a War Heroine needs saving, who do you call?  
_

Hermione sat on the couch, waiting for him to join her before reading. One glance told her all she needed to know - it was harmless. A little story put on by the paper because there wasn't much news to cover that day, and gossip was all that was left. She handed him the paper as he sat down next to her, chuckling as he read.

"It's not bad, actually. It's all true, anyway. Talks about how everyone knows you haven't quite been yourself since the war. That you were out of the public eye for a very long time, but have recently been spotted many times on the eye of a dashingly handsome man in exquisite coats."

"It does not say that, liar."

He laughed, his head leaning back against the couch. "Not in those exact words, of course not. Says I work for the Department of Mysteries, I'm an Unspeakable, I'm new in town and just what you deserved. Says your friends, when contacted, have all liked me. Must not have talked to Harry, then."

"Who would have been able to talk to any of my old friends? Most of them have Unplottable homes, after the war, or have lots of screening done on their owls."

"Ring the paper. Find out. Maybe it's someone you know."

Hermione didn't waste a minute, and did just that. She dialed, waited, and informed the operator of who she was and why she'd called. She was redirected and spoke only briefly before looking completely confused, hanging up the phone, and staring at the window.

"It was Lavender Brown. She... she's been writing for The Daily Prophet for a few weeks now, saw us on New Years, and wants to meet up for coffee. She feels bad about how things ended between us and that she hasn't tried to talk to me before. She said this just sort of came to her, as a sort of way to let everyone know I was working on things. And to make people think I wasn't crazy. As much as I would have been offended by that before, I'm kind of relieved. I'm meeting her for coffee in half an hour, as soon as she gets off work. She invited you, says she'd love to meet you."

He rolled his eyes. "If only she knew. Alright, alright, let me throw on a less wrinkled shirt. This should be interesting. But hey, remember what we were talking about earlier? About Ginny backing off when she saw you with someone else? This is just one more step towards that."

Hermione treasured it. Lavender had already made up for her behavior after the war, and she wouldn't even know it. The three met in a little shop in town just over half an hour later. Lavender was already seated in a table in the corner, watching for Hermione to enter. She smiled and waved her over, and Hermione was surprised to realize she was happy to see her. She hadn't had many nightmares about Lavender in the first place, but this new favor she'd done without realizing it was enough to make Hermione want to hug the girl.

They sat down, and Lavender cleared her throat. "I want to start off by apologizing - firstly for your loss, Hermione, and mostly for how I acted and the outlandish things I said after the war. I don't know what came over me, I guess it was the shock of the loss of Ron that made me go a little crazy."

Hermione shook her head, nearly smiling. "I know all about a little crazy, we'll put that behind us. You've done me a little favor with this article, something I'd rather not talk about, but I'm grateful for that and for your offer to meet up and talk. I appreciate the apology. I don't like disliking people, and we're not in school anymore, we can be rational."

Lavender sighed, smiling. "That's what I thought! And I just had to meet this new friend of yours." She nodded towards 'Ben', who introduced himself as such. Lavender was clearly impressed.

The three of them talked for nearly an hour, mostly about Ben and his false back story, and when they parted ways Hermione felt strangely at ease. She still couldn't call the girl a friend, but perhaps she was an ally. It was nice. Hermione and Ben returned home for a light dinner and some television before bed. As they said goodnight, Ben's arms wrapped around her waist, tilting her face towards his. He pressed his lips to hers gently, their first since New Years Eve and the debacle that followed. Hermione trembled, and through that couldn't tell that Ben stayed completely strong. When they parted, he grinned.

"See? I just have to control myself. Can't get too carried away. Well, I mean... anyway." His cheeks flushed and he released her slightly. Hermione felt her own face heat up just at the idea. She crossed the sitting room to her own guest bedroom and shut the door behind her, letting out a shaky breath.

Speaking of carried away... she had wondered many times in the last week and a half since New Years Eve... what would it be like to share a bed with him? All physical action aside, what would it be like just to sleep beside him? How many lines would _that_ cross? She smiled to herself, turning and noticing an envelope on her windowsill.

_Hermione,_

_We're going to try out my theory in two days. Think of someone you've known in the past, but haven't seen recently. Someone that might be able to help you. Be ready._

_Carrick_

She tossed the letter aside. She'd deal with that sort of thing in the morning. But she had a feeling she knew just the person - someone who she'd frightened so badly that he might still think she was a screaming lunatic. It was perfect, really.


	18. Chapter 18

"I told 'em I wouldn't tell no one," Seamus sputtered, spinning himself around on the stool in front of Hermione's desk, "but I had to sign anyway. I don't mind. Long as you say it can help, I'm in." He grinned at her, though Hermione could sense the apprehension behind his eyes. The last time she'd seen Seamus was at an attempted lunch with Harry - he'd been trying to get Hermione to socialize, to see her old friends. At that time, even she hadn't known the extent of the dam age the nightmares would have on her life, or that they'd continue to morph and change. Even all those months ago, she could only handle five minutes of nightmare flashbacks and burning smells (coming from her head or the cafe kitchen, she wasn't sure) before she'd started screaming her head off.

Today, it was all she could take to keep herself from breaking into a million little pieces. She'd been thinking about this day for a long, long time. What if this could cure her? Even if working with Seamus didn't fix her, it could provide information, one way or another, that could lead to real answers. What would it be like, to sleep without seeing things? To put an end to the fleeting daytime visions?

Seamus, of course, had no idea that the desk he was sitting at belonged to Hermione herself. As far as he knew, she worked somewhere upstairs in financing. As far as he knew, she was only down at this level for research and a cure.

She'd gotten the owl from Carrick just two days previous, and had immediately sent an owl to Seamus requesting his help. She understood the logic - starting on the friendly end of the spectrum meant t hat Carrick could observe changes and take notes on auras and behaviors on a more milder note than if they had started with someone who held ill will towards Hermione. She still didn't really know who was far enough on that end of the spectrum to really do any damage to the curse , but she knew someone who might hate her enough to be close.

Hermione heard a voice from the opposite end of the room - towards her boss, John's office. A door shut somewhere in the indiscernible darkness and Carrick stepped into the light just outside, the entirety of his being flashing gold in the darkness. If a mind like his couldn't help her, nobody could. He crossed the room in a few long, loping strides and after dragging another stool towards the two of them, spun around once before launching into instructions and ideas about how this might work.

"We're starting here, Seamus Finnegan, because I had one hell of a time finding anyone who honestly hated Hermione Granger. Can you imagine?" The manic, mad scientist grin was back. Hermione knew his mind was thoroughly entwined in this research, as hers would be if it weren't her own gory little problem.

Seamus nodded. "I can. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone like that around here. Was her and Harry who saved us, and Ron too." He ducked his head, grimacing, but Hermione just shook her head.

"No, that's right Seamus. It will be a bit hard, but I've got someone in mind already. Now, Carrick... explain to Seamus what's going to happen."

"Right. Seamus Finnegan, you'll be laying down there -" He pointed to one of two tables laid out a few desks away, "And Hermione will be on the one next to you. We'll be using a Mentum Locus spell - a spell developed mostly to deal with auras, Divination, sort of paranormal things that will be able to transfer the consciousness of one person - you - into the consciousness of another. The spell only works when both parties are asleep or unconscious, so we'll be putting you to sleep immediately before the use of the spell. You'll enter Hermione's mind as a second consciousness. We're not sure if you'll be able to sense her own, or if you'll be separated - this is a very, very new sort of experiment. And by new, I mean that I'm making it up almost as I go. Understood?"

Seamus sputtered slightly, looking between the two of them. "So I'm going to let a man who looks like a golden lion put my mind inside Hermione's so that I can run around and try and figure out what's causing her nightmares? Yeah, I'd say I get that."

Hermione stifled laughter, but Carrick simply let the corners of his mouth twitch up. "Sounds about right. Are you ready , then?"

Carrick lead them both to the tables, laid them down, and gave them each a small vial of what Hermione immediately recognized as as Sleeping Draught. When instructed, they both laid down, unstoppered the vials, and drank.

In her last waking moments, Hermione heard the muffled words of the transferring spell before she heard nothing at all, safe in sleep.

It didn't last long. In what felt like seconds, Hermione's eyes fluttered open. She could barely make out the stone ceiling above her head in the dim light, but she turned to one side to see Seamus fully awake and propped up on his elbows, and to the other to see Carrick watching them both with his brows high on his forehead and wide eyes taking up half his face.

"Well. Well. Hmm."

"Carrick?"

"Seamus was only out for a matter of seconds. Five, six, who can tell. I didn't even have time to start a timer. By the time I sat down, Seamus Finnegan - subject two - was already twitching himself a wake. Not you, though. Interesting."

"What does that mean?"

"I think you'd better ask your friend. Do you remember anything that might have happened, Hermione?"

"Not at all. Seamus?" She turned to him and saw a quizzical look on his face. Seamus was propped up on his elbows, mouth pursed but nodding.

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember. I was there. I felt like I was there, anyway."

Carrick nodded. "Where is 'there', Seamus Finnegan?"

"A room, dark one. Darker than this." He pointed around him into the near darkness. "And I called out something - don't remember what - and I could hear it echo, but not on one side. It felt like, there, it just kept going. I heard screams, so I followed them. Tried taking a step or two, see if anything would happen. Then it pulled me."

Carricks hand was flying across the page , notes taking up more than a foot of parchment already. He was doodling something in a square between notes, nodding. " What pulled you, Seamus Finnegan?"

"Dunno. A hand? A shadow? Couldn't see i t now, could I? But I fell and it pulled me somewhere, slow. Then I felt a little shake and I woke up."

"Interesting. And Hermione, you have no recollection of anything that happened?"

"Should I have?"

"In theory, maybe. We're speculating, here, of course. Seamus felt something grab him, and without any violent measure was tossed from your consciousness. Seamus Finnegan, tell me, did it feel a certain way? Could you ascertain any sort of feeling from the thing that grabbed you? "

"Come to think of it, yeah." Seamus scratched his head. "It was... bored. Like I was just another bump in the road, y'know?"

"I know. It wasn't bothered by your presence, and I expected as much. But we know a little more, now, and that's fine. Still nothing, Hermione?"

She huffed. "Am I supposed to remember something after you've asked me about it a thousand times?"

Carrick grimaced, shaking his head. "No, you're supposed to realize that I said much earlier that Seamus woke almost immediately. You didn't."

Anyone looking on might have thought that Hermione were scared. Fear, she'd learned over the last few months, was arbitrary. Her slightly parted mouth, knit brows, and the white-knuckled grip on the sides of the table might have made anyone else in the department - most of which were looking in her direction - think she were afraid.

Instead, she cocked her head to one side and spoke. "How long was I out? What happened while I was still asleep? What do you know?"

Carrick listed a few items from his list. She'd only been asleep a few minutes, but that was much longer than the few moments Seamus had been asleep. As soon as Seamus stirred, Hermione had started sh outing something, whipping her head around, doing the things she usually did when she had nightmares. She'd had a nightmare, but couldn't quite remember it apparently.

And she couldn't think of a single reason it would have happened. Neither, it seemed, did Carrick, though he had a few ideas.

"That's all for you, Seamus Finnegan. Someone is waiting at the door to escort you out. Any questions?"

Seamus stood, turning towards the door. "Yeah, one. Why have you been calling me by me full name all day?"

At this Carrick simply chortled, shaking his head. "Another experiment. I just wanted to know how long it would take you to ask."

* * *

As soon as he left, Carrick turned to Hermione with a determined look in his eye. "I want to try something."

Hermione nodded, eyes closed. "What about?"

"I want to try and bring back, for you, what Seamus saw when he was in your head. I'm almost certain it'll be a nightmare, but I think that Seamus being your friend clouded his vision, quite literally. That's the funny thing about this curse or whatever it may be. It seems to work very literally. I think he wasn't able to see or sense much because he just wanted to help you, but he didn't know how or want to know how bad your condition is."

Hermione's eyes flicked open, staring. "That makes an awful lot of sense. I see why you started with Seamus."

"Exactly. Lie back, please." After another small dose of Sleeping Draught - not more than a few drops - she was asleep a gain.

The nightmare was immediate. She'd been expecting, perhaps, Seamus' family. She knew he was close with his mother, a witch, and his father, a muggle. She hadn't expected that the first person she'd see would be Dean Thomas, his best friend. Dean was shackled to a damp dark wall, crying out, his eyes gouged and bloodied. He was muttering something between shouts, and Hermione knew what she'd hear. _Seamus. Seamus. Seamus._ She turned and saw Seamus' parents on the floor, still. The nightmare, then, had been for Seamus too. She'd caused this. She was infinitely glad that he hadn't had to see it. She continued walking without stepping, floating from place to place. There was no way a nightmare in her head could exist without someone she cared about, and she was all at once certain of who she would see next. She was glad Seamus couldn't see any of it, couldn't see who came next. The last of three, of course, was Ben, flames building at his feet. Bits of him charred and fell off, twisting until they were parts of Draco Malfoy, pieces of the man he used to be.

* * *

_I've gone home early. Call when you can._

The hour until lunch was agony. Why had she gone home early? He knew she'd had the first experiment a that morning with Seamus Finnegan. Had it gone wrong? The moment he was able, he taped the needle mark in the crook of his arm and rushed up to the main level of the ministry building, pushing through the crowds of enrobed people towards the doors that would eventually lead outside.

He turned a corner into a quieter area, moving a few blocks down before he dared find a place to call her. A dingy alley proved to be the only place he could manage complete privacy, and a few protective spells made the area good enough. He dialed her number, coughed on his sleeve - no blood, a very good sign - and didn't have to wait long for her to pick up.

"Is everything alright?"

He heard her chuckle over the line. "It's fine. I'm fine. We ran the first experiment today, with Seamus. It didn't quite work... I'll tell you more later, but in essence it worked exactly how Carrick planned. We know more than we did yesterday, anyway."

"That's... good?"

"It's alright. Yours?"

"Awful. They just can't fix either of us, can they?"

The line went silent for a moment before she whispered into her end. "What if they can't?"

"Don't say that. Besides, _they_ aren't trying to fix us. We are. And if there are two people in this world stubborn enough to research themselves back to life..."

"It's us. Good point."She didn't quite believe it. What if they couldn't? What if she failed, or worse - what if he did? What if he went and died and left her with her nightmares and his big stupid beautiful flat?

* * *

Returning to work after a rather jarring phone call wasn't the ideal situation. He'd have liked to have taken the rest of the day off and joined her at home, but he knew he had an experiment running that was very time sensitive. The low-ceilinged room reminded him of the Slytherin dungeons, anyway, and that was something he wasn't too keen on remembering. He dropped his cell phone, watch, and keys into his locker on the way in - metals were prohibited from the labs as they interfered with iron counts and the testing equipment - and slid up to his desk with a sigh. He'd done hundreds of experiments on his own blood, but the idea never escaped him that he was pulling his own blood, day after day, just so that it could tell him how soon he was going to die.

The current vials of blood - there were three - contained his blood mixed with three different potions. One for turning something to water, one for turning something to wine, and the last for making whatever it came in contact with disappear completely, or at least go entirely somewhere else. The last one had proved particularly tricky, as the vial had disappeared on his first three tries and he was well on his way to a fourth before his supervisor had come to him laughing, explaining that they'd had this sort of trouble before and that there were vials developed specifically for this, impervious to the effects of any potion so that the contents could work their magic. Right.

There was no change in either of the three vials, but he couldn't even bring himself to sigh. He'd known it from the moment he'd started this morning that nothing would happen. It was the same with the previous hundreds, maybe thousands of efforts. At least he knew he could replace his blood supply, though only after a serious loss did the toxicity ever seem to lower, and then only temporarily. It seemed that no matter what he tried, nothing changed in his blood. Things had been changing even less, over the last week - even his toxicity count hadn't really risen, and at least that was good news, until this morning when he'd checked it and measured in as being much, much worse than he should have been. He felt bad - the one time he'd really been up to talking to her about it, he'd told her July. He told her if he didn't find a cure by July, he would be dead.

Now, it looked more like March. Just in time to see the snow melt away from the best winter he'd ever had.

What were his options? He'd tried potions. He'd tried spells, machines, and injecting himself with a number of concoctions that couldn't really have been good for him. Frustrated, he took a needle to his arm and drew out enough blood to play with for the rest of the afternoon. His arms were spotted with little white scars, he was running out of places to stick himself with needles. He split the sample three ways - a bit for a cauldron to boil, a bit to drop in a vial with something ridiculous like gasoline or soil. Lastly he stole away to a far corner of the room, a corner he rarely made contact with as it was full of muggle science equipment. After a quick instruction from a coworker, Ben heaved a microscope to his desk, smeared his blood on the glass plate, and...

It was like paint. No matter how hard he tried to spread it out on the glass, it was completely opaque. It wasn't like blood at all, he could paint a room with it or use it to cement bricks together. He called his boss, not looking up from the sample, and barely heard the crowded whispering around him.

He was ordered to draw two more vials and distribute half of each of them to the four others in the office. He did as he was told, and the team all took turns looking at his blood as closely as they could without actually being able to look through it. His deskmate, Alice, was the first to notice something peculiar. Small bits of his blood had a glint to them, almost metallic, almost gritty.

It wasn't blood at all, and if it was, it was changed. Something had affected his very blood, and if it was regenerating like this, it would continue to increase his toxicity counts. This was news, at least, though not good news at all.

* * *

"So, what. It wasn't blood?"

"It has to _be_ blood, Draco. It's keeping you alive. Honestly, you study it, you should know that."

He rolled his eyes at her, but he smiled. "Of course. How could I ever forget that was doesn't kill me yet, is going to keep me alive for at least another few months." He'd returned home to find dinner waiting and told her everything he remembered from that day. She'd immediately launched into a rant about blood composition, and how half-bloods and muggleborns had been terrified during the war, and a few stupid, daring souls had attempted dark spells to change their very blood. It hadn't gone well, and most had just killed themselves if not made themselves very sick and easier to find.

"There's a book, write this down." She gave him the title, author, and publishing year. How very Hermione. "It might have more information."

"I'll look it up. The Department of Mysteries library is huge..."

Her head whipped up from the notes she was taking. "The Department has its own library? Why has no one else told me this before?"

"Because if we did, you'd spend all your time in there and never get any work done, and you'd never even come home, for that matter. It's got over three hundred thousand books. Mostly references and scientific, but I know you could still get yourself off on that kind of thing."

She narrowed her eyes at him and he laughed, and in the moment between then and when he was going to say something else, an owl ran smack into his window.

Hermione took the note from the owl's leg, nodding. "It's Seamus. He's... he fell asleep at work and had a nightmare, like the one he didn't quite see in my head. Except he saw it this time, and he... well, there are notes. When we first did the experiment he said whatever he sensed inside my head felt almost bored with him, and this time it was almost like it was trying to warn him. He says... he says he's sorry, for treating me like he did after I blew up at our lunch months ago. He understands a little more, even after one day he feels like going mad and I've had them months. Yes, well." She clicked her tongue, chuckling. "Then he makes a very heartfelt apology, again, and tells me how much he wishes he could have helped me. It's probably the most emotional thing I've ever heard from him, so this sort of means a lot." She slipped it into her back pocket, smiling.

The next few moments were silent. They'd talked plenty about their problems, but talking about their successes - mostly those outside of work and in their flat - was a little more difficult. Hermione circled the couch, finally coming to sit next to him with her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"I didn't just come back because I have nowhere else to go, you know. I came back of my own accord."

"I know."

"I could have let the ministry appoint you a nurse, of course. They'd have sent one immediately. They have that sort of thing."

"I'm well aware, they warned me that might happen."

She fought with her next words even harder than she had with those previous. "And I didn't feel comfortable leaving you to a stranger, is all. Strangers don't care. A stranger could have missed your pain potion, or forgotten the protocol for what might happen if you pass out again. A stranger... well, a stranger wouldn't be waiting with dinner, either. You'd have to cook for them, and all, and that didn't seem right. I knew I had to take care of you. And I wanted to - I still do."

"Would you have left Draco Malfoy to a stranger?" He broke the tension by sliding over, slipping his arm around her shoulders.

"Oh, yes. Definitely. I would have left Draco Malfoy to the ministry, or with Molly Weasley, whichever he found worse."

"Then why didn't you?"

She sighed, smirking. She stood up, bending low to put her face at his level again. "Because you're not the man you once were." She kissed him once, quickly, before turning and sauntering into her bedroom with a grin.


	19. Chapter 19

_"If I have to wait in one more line, I'll break another war out myself. This is ridiculous."_

_Carrick grinned, eying the fellow next to him. "How long have you been waiting?"_

_"Over an hour, at least. Possibly two. Normally I'd just go to another wizarding area, Merlin knows they're infinitely less busy and dirty than Diagon Alley. But with security restrictions..." The darker man huffed out a breath, straightening his shoulders. "It doesn't matter. As soon as I get my hands on what I need, I'm leaving."_

_"Here for something special, then?"_

_"A birthday gift for my mother. She and husband number nine are out of the country until later this evening and while I can't take her to Spain or Thailand or Brazil, I can stand in this line with everyone else for a bag's worth of junk she'll place around her house like every other mother out there."_

_At this Carrick laughed. His plans were the same, though his mother had only been married twice and could certainly not afford a holiday in Spain or Thailand or Brazil. His mother was a nanny. The biting January morning, however, hadn't kept crowds from a few good sales in Diagon Alley.  
_

_"Looks like we're in luck then, aren't we? Line's moving."_

_"It's been moving all morning. Only four hours to go, I suppose." He smirked, turning his eyes skyward. "I might be home in time for supper."_

_It was only when he turned his head up that far that Carrick spied the large scar on the other man's neck. What had previously been hidden by a large cashmere scarf was now clearly apparent to him, bright pink and reaching from the bottom of his jaw, down the side of his neck, and disappearing under the back of his coat._

_"Your scar..."_

_The man shrugged, tightening his scarf around his neck. "Yeah. I was at Hogwarts, actually, for the final battle. Wasn't supposed to be. Slytherins were mostly evacuated, but because I'd never had any family in line with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I snuck around and fought. It was... difficult. I had previously spent most of my time in a group of students who all had Death Eater parents or aunts or uncles... I was the only one without. When the fighting broke out, I wasn't part of either side. I just knew bad people when I saw them, and I did what I could."_

_Carrick nodded, a new thought coming to life. "Fought at the Battle of Hogwarts... say, you wouldn't happen to know Hermione Granger, would you?"_

_The man snorted, looking down at Carrick. "I'd say everyone in our world knows her. But yes, I am acquainted with her. The particular group I spent my time with, well... they were perhaps her biggest problem within the walls of Hogwarts. Torment, ridicule, and the like. I'd love to say I didn't take part in any of it, but that would be a lie."_

_"Have you heard from her lately?"_

_"She'd probably hex me if I tried. She doesn't like me much, and despite what she's done for the world, I don't like her either. Know-it-all."_

_"Then you're perfect. I'm going to ask a favor of you. What did you say your name was?"_

_"I didn't. I'm Blaise Zabini. What sort of favor are we talking about?"_

* * *

"Hermione, I'm not going to ask you if you're comfortable with this because I already know - you're not. Which makes this ideal, really. I've already told him about your nightmares, your possible curse."

"He could make things worse! How do I know he's not just here to mess with my mind even more?"

"Because until three seconds ago, when you so wonderfully shouted it out, he had no idea there was anything wrong with you at all. I'll introduce you both, then, to this afternoon's procedure." Carrick clasped his hands together, a smirk stretching between the corners of his mouth. Hermione sat as far from Blaise as she could without simply leaving the room. When she'd walked into the room after lunch to resume her research, the last thing she'd expected was to see Blaise Zabini in her chair, with his feet propped up on her desk, looking bored.

Carrick had rushed to explain, in a whisper, that he'd run into Blaise the day before in Diagon Alley, the two had chatted a bit, and based on what he'd heard in that conversation, he was the ideal next candidate for their experimentation with Hermione's consciousness. They weren't friends, Blaise had been mean to her in the past, but he was far from her worst enemy, especially since they'd hardly seen each other once since the end of the war.

Hermione let her eyes wander between the two of them before unfolding her arms and leaning forward to better hear Carrick.

"Fine. But if anything goes wrong, I'm blaming him."

Carrick raised his brows, chuckling. "Really? After a dark curse put on you by who-knows-who, you're going to blame all your problems on a childhood bully? I expected more of you."

Hermione felt her lips seal together. Damn him. He was right, more often than she was lately. She only nodded, signaling to Carrick that she was ready to hear what would happen that afternoon.

"I'm going to strap you both down to the tables in that corner. I will administer to each of you a small amount of a Sleeping Draught, after which I will perform a spell that will allow Blaise Zabini to exercise his consciousness within the confines of your own, Hermione. Blaise Zabini will observe as much as he can, including feelings, sights, sounds, and the like. When Blaise Zabini and yourself are both conscious, notes will be taken and compared to the previous experiment. Anything to say?"

Blaise nodded, looking reluctant. "You can just call me Blaise, thanks. Or Mr Zabini. You don't need to call me by my full name every time."

Carrick's eyes locked on the young man, and he let just a quip of a smile through. "Excellent. I'll have to record that, as well. You're relatively quick." He stood, retrieving two vials from a storage space in the back of the room, and then lead them both to the tables, strapping them in.

"Are you ready?"

Hermione nodded, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Blaise Zabini nod as well. Who would have thought?

In a matter of moments everything had gone dark, and like the experiment previous, she didn't remember a thing. When she woke this time, it was to Carrick bending over her face, just inches away.

"You're awake."

"How long was I out this time?"

"Just a few seconds."

"What about Blaise?"

"He's... still unconscious."

As if on cue, a tortured scream tore its way from Blaise's throat, coming from behind Carrick. It was over in an instant, but Carrick stood his ground, blocking Hermione from seeing Blaise at all. He shouted only once more, but he was unconscious for at least another few minutes before Carrick visibly relaxed, unstrapping Hermione and letting her take her first look.

Blaise was as stiff as a board on the table, his hands rolled into tight fists at his sides. Every few seconds his back arched, as if in pain, and then he was straight again, unmoving. This continued for at least a minute or two more, until his hands uncurled and his shoulders relaxed. When his eyes snapped open, Hermione expected him to feel relief, calmness, or even confusion, but she did not expect what she saw in his eyes. His pupils were massive, stretching nearly to the whites of his eyes. His eyes were unblinking for a while, and he could not focus on either Hermione or Carrick, but rather stared at the ceiling above him for a long moment while his chest heaved with the effort of pulling full breaths. When he seems to relax a little and his eyes seemed to return to almost normal, Hermione realized she'd been holding her breath. She felt her lungs open, gulped down as much air as she could, and sat back on the table she'd previously been laying on. This had gone badly, and it was definitely not Blaise's fault, but her own.

Carrick cleared his throat. "Blaise? Blaise. It's Carrick. We've spoken. Do you know where we are?"

"Yeah. Ministry building. Dep... Department of Mysteries. We're doing an experiment. For... for _her._ " He turned his eyes towards Hermione, and she shrank back on the table. His pupils were still large, frightened in the dark room.

"Good, Blaise. Good. Can you remember anything that has just happened?"

"Yeah. You gave us the potions, and I heard you say a spell while I fell asleep. I felt like I'd been suctioned out of my own brain, and then... and then I was somewhere else. Somewhere darker. And I felt like I was going to die."

Carrick nodded, a quill flying over parchment behind him, charmed to take notes faster than Carrick's own scribbling hand. "Okay. Alright. Did you see anything?"

"Not at first. I just knew something very bad was going to happen. I think I remembered, for a moment, where I was and that I was in _her_ mind. Then... it was like a light came on, but I wasn't seeing anything that made sense. Every single one of my dead step-fathers... and my mother, and what everyone had said she'd done... I didn't listen. I couldn't listen until now. She's my mother. Even if she did... am I supposed to be angry with her?"

"Did you see anything else?"

"Yes. I saw Draco Malfoy, which is odd, because no one's seen him in months. Most think he's in hiding with his parents, somewhere in Russia or at least somewhere farther to the East. But he was there, dressed like he was when I saw him last. Scared like he was when I saw him last. But he looked older somehow, different. And the whole thing... it was in a strange place, somewhere I'm not familiar with. A dark, solid floor and a sort of wall or something on one side, sort of long but not terribly wide. Open on every other side, mostly dark. It was like it was all being presented to me, but I was there in the midst of everything else, almost warnings. Disappearances are a strong theme in my life, if you can't tell."

Hermione tensed. Older and different were in no way words for the transformation that Draco had actually been through, and Blaise had said that most people thought he was in hiding... there was no way he knew, just from what he'd seen. She let out the smallest sigh of relief.

Carrick stepped around them both. "Hermione, were you at all conscious for this experiment?"

"I don't remember a thing. Whoever enters takes over, I suppose, it's their game."

"It would seem so. Blaise, I've got just a few more questions for you, but I can follow you out and ask you those. One more though, with Hermione. Blaise, do you remember anything from the moments just before you'd woken up? You woke in a strange way, and I'm curious to see if you remember anything."

"There were words, but everything was so mixed up... it was like it was a language I don't speak, but the way it was talking... it didn't sound nice. Threatening, maybe, ominous? But as soon as I heard voices... I just got this sense of foreboding, like something very bad is going to happen, and I can't shake it..."

Carrick sighed. "We can help you with something for that. Let's walk. Hermione, I'll be back in a moment, you can look over my notes if you'd like." At this, the quill dropped to the page, apparently done taking notes for its master. Hermione picked up the parchment, dotted with blips of notes and questions and observations, and sighed. This was only trial number two, and while it had given them more answers than the previous run, it seemed to have done more harm towards Blaise than it had for Seamus, which spoke volumes about this curse and what it was doing. Hermione knew immediately what the situation was, though she didn't want to admit it - whatever it was hiding out in her subconscious was trying to warn anyone who attempted to help her. It was trying to shut them all out. It had taken total ownership of her mind, and it was trying its damnedest to keep it that way.

When Carrick returned he was eerily silent, looking over his notes and pausing only briefly to let her know what he thought of the whole thing.

"I'm finally getting a grip on the whole thing. It's not pretty. Often in situations with experimentation even close to this, it's extremely difficult to follow through with final stages. Can you imagine trying to convince your enemy to help you, just out of the goodness of their hearts? Not likely. Not that any of those have been anything like this, like you... this curse is almost vindictive. It's trying to shut everyone out, while you're asleep and while you're awake." He looked over the last bit of notes, quipping in about difficult results and lack of proper technique. "I don't know what I'm doing. I'll be honest with you. I've got a gift with minds that I do not understand."

"You understand it better than I do."

He looked up at her, pure sadness in his eyes. "Then I'm sorry. Because I only hardly understand anyone's part in this at all. Your waking hours are deteriorating... your nightmares persist... your attention slips, you're forgetting things..."

"What are you talking about?"

He lowered his eyes, speaking slowly. "You have been. I've noticed it, and once I mentioned it to the boss man... he sees it too. Simple things. Forgetting where your desk is when you arrive in the mornings, scoping the area until you see something familiar."

"That's ridiculous. I know exactly where my desk is."

"Do you? You're facing away from the desks. Tell me how many rows back and how many seats over yours is from where we're sitting."

Hermione grasped for details, but... she couldn't. All she could remember was that the room was dark and made of stone. "I... no."

"I know. I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm doing the best I can. You've been having trouble more so lately than before, and we're not sure if it's because we're experimenting or because it's the natural progress of your curse. I'm not sure what the effects of this latest experiment... what they could do to you. I'm only doing the best I can, and I'm the best for the job, but we've never seen anything like this before. Dark magic is hard to understand."

She nodded, tears threatening to drop from her eyes. She'd thought things were getting better, but she hadn't even seen that she'd been getting worse by the day. Her memory slipping, the visions and sights during her waking hours... she'd been hearing things lately, she now recalled, her mother's voice or Harry's crying.

Carrick reached out, placing his hand on top of hers. "There is good news, though. What we saw today is slight progress. When Seamus was introduced to your consciousness, he was tossed aside like a plaything. Blaise, though, was treated as a serious threat. Whatever is in your mind was afraid of him, which agrees with my theory that the less of a friend the person is to you, the more likely they are to be able to help you."

"So I have to figure out who dislikes me most in the world and get them to willingly subject themselves to experimentation that has never been done before by someone who admits he has no idea what he's doing?"

"Now you're getting it. This could be difficult, I know..."

Hermione felt as if she'd been hit with a ton of bricks. "No, you don't understand. I've got the perfect person. And I think I can even get her to agree with everything."

"You're joking."

"I wish I were. The way I'm going to have to convince her... it's going to be disgusting, and it's going to go against my very nature as a decent human being. But if it's something that can help me... I'm going to do it."

"You're aware that further experimentation could be harmful to the second subject."

She knew. She'd always known. Seamus had a few nightmares and felt sick. Blaise had felt like something was very wrong, like he was threatened, unsafe. He hadn't awoken like he should have. The next one, though... that could be bad. But she had an offer that she knew would not be refused.

"I know. And I'll tell her. But she'll agree to it anyway."

Carrick simply shook his head, sighing. "If you can make your worst enemy do that with a simple proposition, you're my hero."

"And you'll be mine if you can pull this off without knowing how and get this curse off me."

The pair smiled, quietly going over notes until the day ended.

* * *

"Hermione. I've been hoping you'd call, I've missed you..."

"I've missed you too, Harry. But I actually have a small favor to ask of you. Well, not of you, but of Ginny. Is she around?"

"Gin? Yeah, she's... she's right here."

"I need to speak to her. Immediately."

"Is it important?"

"Would I call if it weren't?"

The line was silent for a moment as Harry contemplated his next move. Hermione heard him sigh. "Suit yourself." There was a muffled bit of conversation, and then Hermione heard nothing again until she heard a distinctly feminine voice clearing her throat.

"What is it that you'd like, Hermione?"

"I have a deal for you. I know you don't like me seeing Harry, alone or at all. I'm willing to stay away from Harry, within reason, and give you what you want. But I need you to do something for me first. Walk out of the room, don't let Harry hear what I'm about to tell you. This is between you and I, only. Is that clear?"

"I think we can work something out." Hermione heard a door shut. "I'm alone. What is it that you think I'll do for you?"

"I know you'll do it for me. I've got a set of rules. Are you free this afternoon?"

"I'll be here for two more days. I can probably get away for a few minutes, probably in an hour. I'm leaving to go home for the night."

"There's a coffee shop." She gave Ginny an address and a time. "We'll discuss things then. You can decline my offer or you can take it, but given your attitude towards me I think you'll take it."

"We'll see. Fine. Six o'clock."

The line went dead, and Hermione spent the next hour tripping over the thoughts in her head. Why was she going through with this? She was not one to roll over and give someone everything they wanted. Harry was still her best friend, even if she hadn't been able to see him as often lately. She was going to essentially give him up so that she could gain the upper hand and get Ginny to agree to an experiment.

Hermione walked up to the shop at the same time Ginny did. When the two sat down in the nearest seats to the door, Hermione cleared her throat.

"I'm going to give you a very specific set of rules. You can either accept them and take my deal, or you can walk out of here and this meeting will never have happened. I only have a short bit of time to meet with you before I have to be somewhere, so we'll make this short."

Ginny simply stared, and Hermione took the brief moment to realize how worn her old friend looked. She'd been back and forth between Hogwarts and home for the last four months, a new option offered after the war for the comfort of all, and the combination of school and home life had likely exhausted her. It gave her no right to act how she'd been acting, though, and so Hermione took her chance to explain the guidelines.

"I will stay away from Harry as much as reasonably possible. He is still my friend, and you are in no way allowed to try and change that. As far as my contact with him, I will only see him once a week, always with someone else present, and always with your knowledge. I'll tell you myself, if I have to. I will also be allowed to call him once per week. Beyond that I will not make contact with him unless it is an emergency. However, if Harry makes contact with me or tries to call or meet with me, I will not turn him down. You know Harry, he's not the best at planning things, he simply lets things happen, so this seems like it would be rare anyway. We will not ever see each other at Harry's home unless he specifically requests it, and he makes the plan. I know you don't like that, so I'll give you that. In exchange, I need you to come into the Department of Mysteries and take place in a small experiment designed to cure me of my nightmares. It's probably a curse. It's dark magic. There are risks."

She let Ginny evaluate the situation for a moment. The younger woman nodded.

"Fine. I get what I want, in exchange for doing something you need. The outcome outweighs the risks."

"You don't even know what the risks are, really."

"No, I don't. And I wish that it mattered."

"What do you mean, Gin?"

"He resents me for it, you know. He knows I've come to dislike you, he knows why, and he refuses to see my point. But when I think about your time together hunting for horcruxes, the months you spent alone after... after Ron left... you can't tell me that neither one of you felt anything."

"Gin, nothing happened..."

"To you, maybe. But I know Harry, and I love him, and I see how much he cares about you. I know he cares about you more than he cares about me, it's not worth denying, I've been there. Don't lie to me and tell me you know that's not the truth, because anyone can see that it is. Anyone but you. You don't see how much he cares about you, and that keeps you from seeing why I act like I do. But I don't care if you realize it, I don't care if you learn. All I care about is my time with Harry, and about not losing him. So I'll take your offer. I wasn't supposed to return from school next weekend, but I can do so and keep it a secret from Harry if you can make this happen. The agreement takes effect now. If you do something in the week before this happens, or if you tell him about it, the deal is off."

"Fine."

Ginny sighed, standing. "You couldn't use anyone else for this? It had to be me?"

"Would I have done this if that weren't the case? Would I just give up Harry if I didn't have to?"

Ginny nodded, walking away. "I suppose not. But I wouldn't give him away for the world."

Hermione soon got up and left as well. Ginny was right - she wouldn't give Harry up for the world itself. But Hermione just had. And she'd hate herself for it.

* * *

Ben waited for Hermione to walk through the door, and took his time looking at things he now considered relics. A doorknob he'd broken off from Malfoy Manor's front doors just before he'd had to leave it. His life as Draco Malfoy had been... difficult. But his life as Ben Holloway was also difficult.

When the door opened, he hoisted himself carefully off the ground near his closet. It had been a short day for him, after nearly collapsing at his desk, and he'd been waiting to hear from Hermione all day since she'd sent him a note at work that morning letting him know they were trying again.

"How did it go?" He called to her, knowing it would take a few seconds to fully stand and to cross the room. He'd been weak all day, and he'd felt like he had lead limbs.

"It was... well, we found out a lot. It's sort of complicated." She entered his room, wordlessly helping him to stand and to walk towards his bed, where she sat beside him and told him about the experiment with Blaise, with what he'd seen, and with the plans for the next experiment. The whole time, he just nodded. Things made sense in her world, in curses and consciousness. In his there was nothing but thick, shiny blood that couldn't talk or give him any answers. She seemed closer and closer to a cure while he seemed farther and farther away. In a moment, they stood to reheat leftovers for dinner.

"Glad to hear that Zabini was of some help... Merlin knows he was actually a good friend to me, at Hogwarts, probably my only one. But Ginny Weasley? Really?"

"I know. I just... Carrick told me that we had to think of someone who really truly disliked me. She was the only person I could think of."

Ben rolled his eyes, chuckling. "What a tragedy. You can only think of one person in this whole world that hates you."

"I can't think of anyone that hates you, Ben. All of my friends seemed to like you more than they like me right now."

He shook his head. "But how did you get her to agree to it?"

"That's... complicated. I gave her what she wants? I mean, I did in a way."

"How so?"

"I told her I'd limit my contact with Harry. I'll stay away from him as much as possible. I'll only see him once a week, unless he insists on making more plans. And I'll only call him once a week. If he tries to contact me, I can answer, but... well, it's to be avoided. She agreed. She'll help if I do that." Hermione pulled their leftovers from the microwave, poking around at hers to make sure it was hot. She sat down next to him at the table, waiting for his reaction.

"That's ridiculous. You're going to stop talking to your best friend? There's no one else you can think of?"

"Unless we can dig up the location of your father and blackmail him into it, I'm afraid there's no one who dislikes me as much as Ginny. I thought about it. She's really the best choice."

"It's not your fault, though. You shouldn't have to avoid Harry, it's his fault if he... well, you know."

"He does care about me, though. We've discussed it. What he said on New Years Eve..."

"Precisely. You're at the top of his list, Hermione. One list or another, friendship or the other thing. Maybe both. Ginny Weasley knows that. And maybe she's not too far off base. You realize that even if his little confession doesn't mean he's got big noble mushy feelings for you, it means he cares strongly enough to know when something is wrong. You're his last connection to his glory days, to the happy times before the war. You're his person, the one that's always been there. Not Ginny. You. Of the two people that stood by him no matter what... well, even if you don't have feelings for him, you're the last one left." He finished his plate, setting his fork down.

Hermione wanted to tell him he was wrong. That he was making a big deal out of things. But she couldn't - he was right. In some way or another, she was Harry's person, and she was about to give up her right to see him in exchange for her sanity. It didn't make any sense. She would never have done something like this otherwise.

"I'm going to bed." She stood, clearing the table. "I'm tired. The experiment took a lot out of me."

Ben felt his face fall. He'd been hoping that they could spend a little time together after his disastrous morning. "Oh. That... that's fine."

He watched her pretend to smile as she set the dishes in the dishwasher and wished him goodnight before walking straight into her room and shutting the door behind her. It would take him a minute to wobble back to his bedroom, but he resolved to slam his door shut a little when he got there. She had her problems and was getting a fix, he had his problems and didn't have even a hunch. And yet she was the one that was upset.

When he woke the next morning, he hoped the day would go better than the last. Upon waking and trying to move his limbs, he knew it wouldn't.

* * *


	20. Chapter 20

In hindsight, Hermione should have known that something would go wrong. Something always went wrong.

Ginny Weasley stood just near enough to the lifts inside the Ministry building that she went mostly unnoticed. Despite her fiery red hair and her height, she was far from sticking out in the crowds of robed, hatted, and jabbering wizards, and it took Hermione nearly five minutes just to find her former friend at all. The week between the meeting with Ginny describing her terms and the experiment and this morning had been hell. It wasn't as if she were itching to call Harry day and night just to hear him talk. It was simply that she knew that if she wanted to talk to him, it would be her only chance all week, and she couldn't even talk about what she wished she could. She couldn't tell him that Ginny would be back from school for a few days to take part in her experiment. She couldn't tell him that Ginny was taking a risk that neither of them knew anything about, just so that Hermione would spend as little time with him as possible. Her hands were tied. Break her curse, eternally keep her distance from her best friend - or, as long as he was with Ginny Weasley, anyway.

Would he be angry? Would he blame her distance on Ben, who he knew was actually Draco Malfoy? Hermione knew Harry had a history of going to extreme lengths to prove how much he cared about her and wanted to protect her. If he thought for even a moment that 'Ben' was at fault for her distance, he would reveal his true identity and then... well, she didn't want to think about that right now.

She finally spotted Ginny standing stock still in the middle of a crowd, hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her own family didn't know she wasn't at school this weekend, let alone that she'd be meeting Hermione to broker this deal.

"Gin. They're ready for us."

"Who is they? You didn't give me very many specifics."

"I... I can't, really. They're Unspeakables. They're just my doctors, they took an interest in my case after I went to St. Mungo's to try and figure out what was wrong with me." This was the back story. It was just simple enough to be trusted. Occam's Razor, it seemed, was her best friend when selecting a believable story. Still, the younger woman rolled her eyes slightly, letting them come to rest as she stared at the ceiling, letting out a breath between pursed lips.

"Hermione Granger has nightmares and the Ministry launches a full scale investigation. Should have figured as much."

Hermione took her down in the lifts to the Department of Mysteries, a place Ginny had only seen once previously. They'd been here together, she recalled, but at the time they were on the same side of the fight. After a few floors, the two were the only people left in the lift for the long descent down. There was a long pause between stops, given the longer distance between floors down here, and in the silence Hermione could hear Ginny's breathing grow shaky.

"I hope it works. It better work, I mean. I remember the first night I stayed with Harry, and you screamed... I was terrified, thought there were Death Eaters in his sitting room, that they'd gotten past the wards and the protective spells and that they were ripping you apart. I'd woken Harry and he brushed me off. He knew about them. He knew you'd been having these nightmares, but even when you forgot to put up a silencing charm, he wouldn't put one up. If you were terrified, he let himself be terrified too, scared only for you. I thought it was bad for him, given that it had only been a few months since the war. He had nightmares himself, you know. But something about seeing you struggle... he wanted to take care of you. Because you were worse off than he was."

Hermione said nothing, letting it all sink in. She'd figured as much. Harry had always been so protective of her, above all others. The world be damned, if there was something he could do for Hermione, he did it. As the elevator jolted into place at the bottom, as was customary, Ginny turned towards Hermione with a completely unreadable face.

"I used to foolishly wonder who was suffering more, you or I. You had your nightmares, but I was stupid enough to think that my life was ruined because of what we now know to be your curse, without thinking once about the effect it had on you."

Did she know, though? She she understand that this curse had caused more than just nightmares? Hermione supposed that Ginny had no idea, anyway. She'd never told her, she wouldn't have listened. And she doubted that Harry would have said anything, given that he knew how Ginny felt about Hermione at this point. The doors slid open, and Hermione lead Ginny down the short hallway to the Thought Sector, and through the door into the Dream Division. Carrick was already waiting just inside the door with his eyes wide and wild, clipboard clutched to his chest, with John standing behind him, stony faced and silent.

"Ginny Weasley. I'm Carrick. I've... I've been hired here to work on Miss Granger's peculiar case. I'll be conducting the experiment this afternoon. I've conducted the last two, to moderate success, but I'm required to warn you that there are risks to this procedure that we do not yet know. Our first subject had nightmares for a few days following. Our second checked himself into St Mungo's for a week to deal with a sense of dread and anxiety that were double what he said he'd experienced in wartime. You are the third, and your relationship with Miss Granger means that your risks are far greater. Do you understand?"

Ginny nodded, stepping forward. "I understand."

"And you're still willing to take part in this?"

Ginny glanced backwards, locking eyes with Hermione for only a split second before speaking. "I am. There are certain risks I'm willing to take to protect what I love." The group began the short walk to the tables, ready for the days work.

Carrick glanced sideways at Hermione, brows raised. He seemed to be asking, silently, if this was really what she wanted and if she was ready to follow through on whatever she'd had to promise to this girl to get her to agree to this. Hermione nodded, looking down at her shoes, and Carrick dropped his arms - laden with clipboard and wand - to his sides. "Alright. Alright. These are our tables. You'll each be strapped down to them, and it won't be terribly comfortable, I'm sorry. After a small dose of sleeping draught, the both of you will be examined and then I will perform a spell that will transfer your consciousness, Ginny Weasley, into the mind of Miss Granger. From there, you will observe what you see around you. Take note of all sights, sounds, and most importantly feelings you get or that you can perceive. Are we clear?"

Both women nodded, not looking at each other. Carrick and John strapped them each down to a table, administered the sleeping draught, and...

Hermione had a sudden moment of clarity. What if, because Ginny had been honest with her, this wouldn't work? Seamus had been a friend and had been tossed out. Blaise had been an unfriendly acquaintance and he'd had a sense of foreboding. If Ginny were someone who despised Hermione for a truth, instead of for nonsense... what would her curse think of it? Strange, she'd come to think of her curse as almost being a sentient being, a thoughtful thing that could make decisions on its own, judging those who came to seek it and destroy it.

Before she had time to ponder the possible repercussions of Ginny's elevator confession and honesty, the world went black.

* * *

_Still nothing?  
_

_Not a thing. She hasn't moved._

She recognized the voices. One lower, gruff, the other lilting and almost singsongish in quality. John, sturdy as ever, and Carrick, a little golden bird flitting around above her. She could be laying at the bottom of a pond, looking up at them, for all she knew. That's how it felt.

 _Granger seems to be alright, just unconscious. We'll have to see how long that lasts._ The golden bird. He was beautiful, all blips of lines and shiny stubble and those wide, bright eyes. Everything felt... soft. Soft was the best word for it.

Until it wasn't. Carrick tapped her shoulder and Hermione was pulled from the bottom of the pond, gasping for breath. She felt like she weighed tons, made completely of stone and fear, and for a moment she couldn't move. Carrick started, jumping nearly a foot back and clutching at his chest.

"Oh, thank gods... you're alright. We were worried. How do you feel? Do you remember anything?"

"What are you talking about, Carrick? What's wrong?"

Once more, Carrick stood between Hermione and the second table, a nervous expression on his face.

"I'm beginning to think I was not the man for this job. I am. This is bad, I'm preparing you for this now, this is bad. Ginny Weasley... she hasn't woken up. But she's not just asleep, she's showing very little brain activity."

"What are you talking about? What time is it? How long was I out? Carrick!"

He shook his head, strands of golden hair glinting in the light overhead. "It's nearly seven at night, Hermione. It's been hours. You've both been out, but you were... well, unconscious at worst. When you started stirring, you were screaming. We gave you more sleeping draught, but it didn't seem to have any effect, since you weren't quite awake either. A calming draught got you to stop screaming, but... you thrashed in your sleep. Something was happening, something very real, inside your head. Ginny Weasley thrashed too, until she stopped. She's been still for hours. We called in a specialist from St. Mungo's, nice woman, but she confirmed it. Ginny Weasley is in a coma... it's more complicated, though, that your average coma. One caused by magical circumstances, well... obviously they can have more of an effect on the brain."

Hermione put her head in her hands, shaking. She'd done this. She'd been so desperate to end her own stupid nightmares that she'd subjected someone who had once been one of her best friends, to _this._ A complete magical coma. She'd heard of them before, of course, and had always wondered. But she'd never have wished it on Ginny, even with her recent treatment of Hermione.

Carrick unstrapped Hermione's legs and chest from the table, allowing her to sit up fully. After a brief examination to make sure she truly was alright, Carrick asked Hermione all the usual questions. What do you remember? What did you see? Only instead of the answer she'd been giving the last two times - that she'd seen nothing, heard nothing, and truly wasn't even there - Hermione felt everything come back to her in a rush.

"I was there. I was there for this one, and Ginny... she was raised up, above me, walking. I was sitting, watching her, and she was talking to me. She knew I was there. She was... in the elevator earlier, she told me the truth about why she's so angry with me. And instead of feeling like it was all ridiculous, I'd understood, and I hadn't tried to challenge her feelings. She knew that. When I saw her, in my dream... she was crying. She was sorry, she hoped it worked so that I could get my life back together, so that things could fix themselves in one way or another and I could move on. She saw what I saw, which was Ron, slumped in the middle of whatever platform she was on, in the exact position he'd been when he... when he died.

"She saw him and knew that it had plagued me every day since. That I've been suffering through this and thinking about him, even when I think I've moved on. She told me she was sorry, that she'd do her best, and then... it was like the darkness itself was moving. It moved towards her, and she had a wand with her, and she shot spell after spell at it, trying to defeat it. But she wasn't trying to remove it, reverse it, she was dueling it as if she wanted to protect me. And I think that's what did it."

Carrick listened intently, this time hand-writing his notes on a long sheet of parchment. "Okay. Okay. I think... I've got a few ideas, none that are concrete. I don't know what I'm doing, I..."

Hermione reached across the distance between them, clasping his writing hand. "Carrick. Slow down."

He looked up, his eyes flitting in and out of contact with hers. She sighed.

"How could you think that you aren't the man for this job? In just a few weeks, you've given me more answers than a few months of my own research. Nobody in the entire division has been able to give me any answers, and even if your facts aren't concrete we're closer to solving this problem because of you. Now, tell me more about Ginny. Will she be alright?"

Carrick nodded. "She's... her activity, while low, is steady. No spikes, or anything, which is usually what makes it dangerous. She should be fine. But it's still a coma. She could be out hours more, days, weeks... we don't know."

Hermione slipped off the table to stand next to Ginny's all-too-still form. "I'm sorry, Gin. I am. Thank you for trying."

She turned to Carrick, her mind already on her phone, tucked away in her locker. "I've got a phone call to make. The person I'm calling is going to be very, very unhappy with me for this. I'm taking the rest of the afternoon off, get a hold of me when Ginny's moved to St. Mungo's and we'll both be there for her."

Carrick only looked at her, unblinking. Hermione took that as acceptance and left the room, taking her things with her. She was dialing Harry's number before she even reached the lobby of the ministry building, and by the time she stepped outside the phone was already ringing through. He picked up on the first ring.

"Hermione! I was going to call you later tonight, see if you wanted to do something, it's been a while and I miss you, and..."

"Harry, listen to me. Something has happened. I need to see you, immediately. Are you free?"

"I just got back from a short mission, but I'm free. We could get dinner, where do you want to meet?"

"No time. Remember where you met me before? Be there in two minutes. I've got to make another call and I'll meet you there."

"What's going on, Hermione?" There was a moment of silence on the line. "What's wrong?"

"I did something bad, Harry. Very bad. And you're probably going to be really, really angry with me. It's Ginny. She agreed to help with something related to my nightmares. I'll tell you all I can. She's... she's unconscious, Harry. In a coma."

She waited for his response, and was afraid he wouldn't speak to her at all. "I'll be there in a minute flat. You call... Ben, and tell him you'll be late home. We're going to have to discuss this at length."

Hermione said her goodbye, clicking the phone shut. Harry was going to throttle her.

Ben never answered, not the first time or after the first message nor the second, when she grumbled _Draco Malfoy or Ben Holloway had better answer this phone or call me in one minute or I'm coming home to retrieve him myself, something went wrong, I'm fine but I'm headed to St. Mungo's for Ginny. Just making sure you're okay._

As soon as she met with Harry, the pair apparated into St. Mungo's waiting room. The people that normally littered the room stared as two of their greatest war heroes whispered back and forth with the mediwitch at the counter, who directed them down the hallway. Ginny was just being transferred in. She wasn't technically allowed visitors yet, and as neither of them were family, neither of them were allowed in to see her anyway. They were given her room number, but not entrance into the room. They walked down the hallway to see Ginny being transferred, motionless, into a bed. It was when the next mediwitch began attaching lines to Ginny and performing spells that Harry turned away, eyes stony.

"We can't go in. And I don't want to just wait here. Let me send a quick owl to Molly... Ginny wasn't even supposed to be back this weekend. What's happening?"

"We'll talk somewhere else. I'm starved, and if we won't be let in anyway, I've got a lot to explain."

Harry agreed, walking to the counter to ask the mediwitch to send an owl to Molly Weasley. When informed that an owl had already been sent, Harry and Hermione left the building, walking quickly around a half dozen blocks and into an empty little diner far from the busiest streets.

"First, Hermione, are you alright?"

"I'm sitting here talking to you. The same cannot be said for your girlfriend."

"How did this even happen? She was supposed to be at school this weekend. She told me she had Quidditch practice, just earlier this week."

"She... she made it up, Harry. I contacted her last week, remember when I called? I asked her for help."

"And she just agreed? That was it?"

"Not exactly... but that's a story for another day. That's less important than what has happened since then." Hermione recounted the afternoon's events. Ginny was perfectly willing. Hermione shared what she'd seen in her own mind, what Ginny had done. She held back what Ginny had said when relating to Harry - she wasn't going to tell him the deal that she had made with Ginny in order to secure her help - but the rest, she told him, and he said nothing for quite some time.

"Ginny's in a coma. But she looks alright?"

"Yes, Harry. We have no idea how long she'll be like this. Days, weeks... it's similar to a muggle coma, but magically caused, there can be complications but it doesn't seem as if there will be. She'll be safe."

"And you're fine?"

"Harry, we're sitting here eating chips and chatting about the days problems and you're asking me if I'm alright? Your girlfriend is only just barely not a vegetable. Her brain activity is at forty percent of the normal. She fought the physical and metaphorical darkness inside my mind, which I'm sure you know given your history is a hard battle. Minds are the most powerful weapon. She thrashed on the table beside me, she screamed. Whatever it did to her, I can't be sure, or whatever it might do to her still. Don't ask about me."

"How can I not ask about you? I thought you'd been distant before, but this past week you haven't called once. Not one time. You haven't tried to see me or speak to me, and given what I know about your new boyfriend, I worry about you. I worry about you because of _him,_ I worry about you because now you've decided to go and risk your life over nightmares. I know they're bad, Hermione, if you don't remember _I_ was the one who listened to you scream every night for the first few months. That was _me_. But no matter how bad they get, they're not worth risking your life over. I... I can't lose you."

"And what about Ginny? If they aren't worth risking my life, I'm certain they're not worth risking hers. They're not even her nightmares."

"Then why did she agree to help you?"

"That's a discussion that was between Ginny and myself, and I'm not sure if the terms even still stand, given the outcome of this afternoon. Look, Harry, don't worry about me. You definitely don't need to worry about Ben, no matter your old prejudice against him, he takes care of me, alright? I'm fine."

He mumbled something that sounded oddly like "I'm not sure you are" before Hermione scooted back her chair, glancing at her watch.

"I've got to go home. I've got to make sure he's okay, he's probably worried sick even though I called him twice earlier. I suggest you get in touch with Molly and make a serious effort to see your own girlfriend. But don't worry about me, Harry. I'm fine. I'm not the one you should be worried about right now." She slid a few bills from her wallet, dropping them on the table. Harry said nothing, stony and silent, as she left him sitting there in the cafe.

Hermione decided to walk a few blocks before apparating. How dare he? Ginny was in a coma, with no signs of waking any time soon, and all he could do was ask about Hermione, who was eating chips and walking and talking and nothing but scared. For a few moments, she wished he didn't care about her so much. She still wasn't sure she believed Ben's idea, that Harry had feelings for her, but if he did she wished those were gone too. If Harry didn't put her up on a pedestal, things would be so much better. Ginny wouldn't hate her. Ginny wouldn't be in a coma. Hermione could go to weekly Weasley family dinners again, when she was able to squash the pictures in her head, and things could be as close to normal as she could picture them. But Harry had to have some ridiculous notion in his head that Hermione was the very top person and priority in his life, and it was noble, but it was frustrating all the same.

Hermione hid behind a dumpster before apparating into the flat she now shared with Ben. When he turned, hearing her arrival, he only sighed before looking up at her. "I'd been wondering when you might show up."

* * *

He'd gotten her messages, of course. He'd missed the first call because he'd been afraid to answer. He had been on the afternoons of the last two experiments, too, terrified that someone from the ministry had gotten a hold of her phone just to call him and tell him she'd died on the table. That they'd taken her to St. Mungo's, but there was nothing anyone could do. At first, yes, he was terrified. Then he listened to her first message.

_It's me. Something went wrong, I... Ginny's in trouble, I'm meeting with Harry immediately and we're going to St. Mungo's. I just want to make sure you hear from me, and that I hear from you. It scared me, this time, I don't feel right. But I've got Harry - he'll take care of me until I get home. Just let me know you're alright and you got this._

Well, he'd gotten it. But after hearing about Potter _taking care of her_ , he wasn't particularly in the mood to talk after that. It was one of, oh, a dozen reasons he wasn't quite feeling normal, but it had been the icing on the cake. She'd know he was fine, her bracelet wouldn't have gone off, alerting her to any danger with him. She knew that. And now that she'd called, he knew she was fine, albeit with Harry.

He sighed, waiting for her to step down into the sitting room and plop down beside him, as was custom. On her way, he thought about why he might be feeling this way, acting this way. Was it something to do with his blood? Was it causing him to go mad, day by day? He didn't think so. But he could, at least, trace it back to the week previous, when Hermione admitted that she'd gotten Ginny to agree to the experiment on a set of twisted terms. His first reaction was that of sadness - he cared about her, of course, and didn't want her to have to give up her best friend. But that morphed, as the curious mind of any man will, and he began to wonder. She'd been calling Potter what, twice a week? Three times if things were particularly busy. She'd meet him once or twice a week at best, if at all, given their busy schedules as and Unspeakable and an Auror.

She had seemed fine with that. It was hardly more than she'd promised to Ginny Weasley - a phone call or two less per week, likely the same amount of outings and meetings. So why had it pulled at her in a way that had made her sad? He figured it had something to do with wanting to see him when she couldn't. Absence made the heart grow fonder, or something along those lines, and he admitted to himself that he knew that Hermione would soon look forward to seeing Potter more than she looked forward to seeing Ben himself. It was selfish, yes, but that had always been a part of him.

The same would go for Potter, of course. He'd want to see her so badly it ached, he knew the feeling well, and instead of being able to chat anytime and meet for tea and coffee, Hermione would be bound to see him as little as possible. When they did see each other, details would likely be kept secret from one or both outside parties - himself and Ginny. It wasn't that he expected Hermione to throw herself at him, he knew her better than that, it was only that he knew that this situation wouldn't be good for her, for Harry, for anyone involved except Ginny Weasley, who had been a bit of a bitch anyway.

When Hermione did sit beside him, he expected defensive tactics. It was all he'd ever been used to - selfish motives. But one look at her told her he'd been looking at the whole thing from entirely the wrong angle.

"I'm sorry. I know this can't be easy on you."

He nodded, barely able to make eye contact. He wasn't mad at her. He wasn't mad at Ginny Weasley, or Harry Potter. He was mad at whoever had cursed them both, on the same night, in the same place, for different reasons. It couldn't have been the same person - nobody could have forseen the future that had unfolded between them both, no Seer or otherwise - but each of those wizards had come to be the source of darkness in their lives. Neither of them, it seemed, could be fixed.

"It's not."

"I know. I just... this is what I get for dragging other people into my problems. I hurt Seamus, I hurt Blaise, and now I've put Ginny in a coma." She played with her fingers, picking at the fringe on a pillow. "And it's all my fault."

"I dragged you into mine. Do you resent me for that?"

She looked up at him, eyes narrow. "It's not exactly as if you forced me into it. I could have walked away at any time, left you with a nurse. We've discussed this. No, I walked right into your problems with a bag full of my things, so that I could stay."

"And what about your problems? You dragged me into your problems."

"No, not really. My problems... well, you barged your way in and refused to leave. Which, surprisingly, has been the best help." She slid her hand across the pillow, letting it come to rest on his. "But this has been hard for me too. I'm sure you know that. I didn't want to make that deal at all, but I did against my better judgement and look where it's lead us. Where it's lead Ginny. I can't think about my personal problems right now, or about Harry's feelings right now, because I've put his girlfriend in a coma with my own selfish actions."

He said nothing, only letting their fingers lace together lightly. He wasn't mad. He knew he couldn't really be mad. Never at her. But why did he feel so angry?

"How was your day, anyway? Any progress? I know you were looking at samples when I last asked..."

"Not too much progress. In fact, negative progress. We thought at first that perhaps my blood had just been altered, but it doesn't seem as if that's the case. It hasn't just been thickened or changed. Something about... something about the very composition is wrong. But we can't really treat it until we know what it is."

Hermione nodded, squeezing his hand. "I'm sorry. I wish there were something I could do, I've been so wrapped up in my own experiments that I haven't been able to help with any research for you, and..."

"It's fine. I don't expect you to drop everything to help me."

She pointed to the spare bedroom, her room. It clicked. He didn't need to expect her to drop everything, she already had. She was living in the spare room in his flat, making sure he was functioning properly, making sure he wasn't overworking himself.

The selfish little beast inside him curled up, defeated. How could he be anything but grateful towards her? She was doing what was best for the both of them, and he'd let his thoughts get much too far ahead of him.

"Ah. Right."

She stood, helping him to stand beside her. He only wobbled slightly as he stood, which he took to be excellent news until she stepped in closer, pressing her lips to his.

It felt as if his heart had turned to stone, and stone could not properly pump blood. But still, he moved his lips against hers properly, lifting his hand to her hair, pulling her in closer until the darkness behind his eyelids started to swim and change, and he pulled away. Her look of concern was missed on neither of them, and he could feel his cheeks flush both with embarrassment and with the effort it took to draw breath just then.

"I'm fine. I'm... I'm just fine. Let's get some sleep." He leaned down to peck her forehead before turning around, dragging himself into his bedroom, and shutting the door behind him. She was all he had, but any affection he had with her would kill him. He drifted to sleep, still fully clothed, wondering if there were a way to return the higher powers that be to his favor so that he might live to see another kiss.


	21. Chapter 21

Whereas the last few months of waking up had been a slow, painful process, this morning was different. This morning, the man now known as Ben Holloway woke with a start, cursing at his lack of breath and the dampness on his pillow that meant he'd been sweating despite the fact that he saw piles of snow clinging to his window. This morning was also different in the way that he'd woken up nearly an hour before his alarm was set to go off, it was still quite dark in his room, and he could not feel his feet.

"Hermione!" He almost regretted it, muttering to himself that he was an idiot in the minute it took for her to rise, make sure she was dressed enough, and cross the main room of his flat into her bedroom. In that amount of time, he'd removed his shirt, which was stuck to his skin with sweat both dried and new and wrinkled as if he's been tossing and turning all night.

"Draco? Are you... what's the matter?" She saw that he's not yet out of bed. "Are you alright?"

He shook his head, barely enough to be noticeable, before he shifted his legs off the bed, letting his feet hang.

"You're deathly pale. I should take you in, you look like hell. Can you stand?"

"I'm... I've got to be fine. I can't be there yet."

"Are you sure you're fine? When is the last time you tested yourself?"

He wanted to say he did yesterday, and the day before, or even last week. But he shut his mouth instead of letting her in on the fact that it's been weeks since he's drawn blood for testing his toxicity instead of with the sole purpose of testing to find a cure. He didn't want to. Who wants to measure their way into their own death?

She bent her knees, leveling her face with his. "I could grab the wheelchair. I know you haven't wanted to use it, but..."

"No. No, I'm fine. I just... got a little scared, is all. I'd still like to burn the wheelchair, actually, if that's an option."

"It's not. I'm holding on to it for mornings like this. Can you walk?"

"I don't know. But I will." He grabbed his wand off the bedside table, waving it once in a large sweeping motion over his legs. He bent them, leaned forward, and stood up. Though he still couldn't really _feel_ them, he could use them, and that was something.

"I thought you said... I _know_ you said July. That it would only progress to the final stages in July. Today starts February - you should still have six months. Why are things getting so bad so quickly?"

He hesitates a moment, the correct answers on his tongue. He could tell her everything, but he won't, so instead he sighed. "That's what I knew last month. I've told you since the very beginning, since the day you knew about my illness. It isn't something that has regular, normal guidelines. It's like your nightmares. You can never accurately predict what's happening, because you don't even know the curse."

"So..." Her voice shook in the dark beside his bed, and it actually pained him to hear it. "So you're saying, sooner? When?"

"I don't know. I should do more testing."

"Yes, I think you should. Are you sure you won't let me take you to St. Mungo's? I think it's time you went in anyway..." In the dark, he felt her fingertips brushing over his shoulder. He leaned into her hand, closing his eyes. "Not yet. I can't slow down now."

She might have nodded, might not have, but she turns and leaves him in his room in the dark all the same.

Later, when they Floo into work and down the lifts, he can feel her eyes burning into him while he limps down hallways, staggering just to stay upright.

* * *

The next few hours hadn't been any easier than that morning, and when Ben pricks his arm with a needle only to find that he's got to push even farther in to reach a vein past scar tissue in the crook of his arm, he groans. He can't keep doing this. It's torture. But what was his other option? He pulled out a few vials of blood, setting them on his work desk in a row. He'd brought over the same small muggle machine he'd used before, and he used a droplet of his blood on a stick to analyze his toxicity. While the small machine whirred and beeped, he went over his records and previous levels.

 _7 July 1998 - 8% Toxicity, Blood appears normal_  
3 August 1998 - 12% Toxicity, Blood appears darker than usual, some weakness and some blood in tissues  
7 September 1998 - 21% Toxicity, Blood darker still. Weakness early morning and late at night, more blood in tissues.  
30 October 1998 - 35% Toxicity, Thicker consistency. Blood coming up in clots in tissues.  
1 December 1998 - 42% Toxicity, Thicker consistency, some sediment in vials. Blood seems too thick to come out of tissues as often as it did

He hesitated a while before looking at the machine. Yes, December had been a slow point, but it could have sped up again, especially given his display of weakness on New Year's Eve. He'd fainted. He had to look at that number, he had to know -

He staggered, nearly fainting once again. He'd expected maybe fifty percent, even if that were a one point increase per week, a little on the slow end. The fastest had been a little over two points a week. But this number topped even that - the final readout gave him a blood toxicity percentage of seventy-three. He shook his head, grabbed a quill, and penned in the latest results. In sixty-two days, he'd increased thirty-one points, which meant that every other day, he was climbing a percentage point, on average.

_1 February 1999 - 73% Toxicity. Blood still increasingly worse. A point every other day. Worst yet. Blood comes up black on tissues. Can hardly pull samples. Thick. Sediment. Nearly brown._

He tossed the quill down, swearing when it spattered his notes. He almost didn't care. A point every two days... that certainly wouldn't last until July.

He knew that when he reached fifty percent, he would start seeing effects. Every magical and non-magical case said nearly the same - that fifty percent started the biggest decline in quality of life. Difficulty breathing, difficulty remaining conscious. He'd been very careful not to excite himself too much - and after he'd warned Hermione, she'd been equally as careful not to stimulate him - but it had still landed him at St. Mungo's on New Year's, it still made him dizzy when they simply kissed. He'd likely reached fifty percent mid-way through December, which made sense. He was likely near sixty percent by New Years Eve, and had no idea. He'd been feeling the tingling in his fingers and toes for weeks, simply brushing them aside. How could he have been so stupid?

He'd thought his levels had been slowing down, but he was wrong - a mistake that had cost him precious time. He only had one other option left - he pulled a sample from earlier in January from a cool vault in the room. He'd test this, to see what it told him, and whether or not he'd been constant or had gotten worse or better. Another droplet went into the machine, and he waited impatiently for his results. When he saw the number sixty-four on the readout, he almost shouted out with joy. Sixty-four that early meant that he'd sped up during December, but had slowed considerably since then. If it had been two points a day, he'd be dead within days. Eighty-five percent or higher would mean death was upon him. But if he'd been slowing down, only nine percent in the last month, that meant two points a week. He still had some time. He might still be able to fix this. A month and a half... mid-March. That was his new deadline. It wasn't pretty, but it was better than dying at the end of the week, which would have been true had the two-days-to-a-point average been true.

He sealed his vials, noting the contents. Thick, almost like syrup, with a layer of fine sediment settled at the bottom. Deep in colour, like rich red wine. He packaged this single sample into a box beneath his desk, something he'd been doing for some time. A simple charm kept them from decomposing. Now, spurred on by both the knowledge that he did not have until July, but that he also had more than six days, he rolled his sleeve up once more to draw a few vials for testing.  
Again, he had trouble sticking the needle somewhere without pressing it so far into his arm that he thought it might disappear, but a spot in the middle of his forearm appeared to do the trick, as he soon had thick blood streaming in rivulets down into the vial in his hand. When six more were filled, his maximum for the day, he pushed his sleeves back down, eager to get to work.

Perhaps the number could motivate him. Maybe just seeing that number seventy-three lit up on a tiny display would push him to think out of the box and find a way to cure himself. His head spun from taking so much blood for testing, but a drop or two loss from what he intended to test wouldn't hurt. He carefully dabbed a small amount on a stick, inserting blood to be analyzed for the third time that morning. The whirring of the machine was comforting now - he would find a way to fix this. Six weeks. It wasn't long, but it was better than six days, and he'd give it his best. At the very least, he'd be able to spend a wonderful six weeks in peace, with Hermione caring for him, but he didn't think it would come to that yet.

Once again the number on the machine left him staggering, grasping for his chair. The reason wasn't that it was any higher, which he almost expected when the number on the face wasn't immediately seventy-three. No, it was _lower,_ something that had not happened before. He'd never bothered to test himself twice in one day, and now he was glad he had. The number that now shone up at him in the dark room he'd spent a great deal of time in, the sixty-eight that called to him from the display, was a beacon of something - not hope, but something more tangible, more real - and for the first time that day, he was not thinking about his death, and prolonging it, but his life, and perhaps truly saving it.

He called his supervisor over at such a volume that those in the workstations around him started, some so surprised that they dropped whatever they were working on. Though he apologized, they waved him off. Many knew that his research was tied to his own life, and any positive progress was something for them all to celebrate. Many gathered around his desk, making room only for their supervisor, to whom Ben recounted the numbers and facts plainly and with a smile. As he continued, his colleagues faces changed from that of general skepticism and worry to those of excitement, congratulations.

Ben's supervisor - a man who insisted to be referred to by his first name, Devon, nodded his head slowly. He was hardly forty, quite tall, with an impressive mustache and matching thick eyebrows. He furrowed said brows in concentration while he looked over the most recent findings, muttering to himself before standing again.

"Blood loss, perhaps? Your body - your heart, that is - could be regenerating healthy blood. Think of it as a blood virus - the new blood is tainted as the virus spreads, but before it is infected, the blood is healthy. In theory, if we could remove all of the infected blood, we could cure you - bring your toxicity down to zero. That of course provides our problem - draining you of all blood would kill you, my boy!" He walked around to the other side of the desk, looking in turn at everyone gathered around. "Your body would not be able to replenish the supply in time to keep you alive. But if there were another source... a proper transfusion, someone who could donate, over time, enough to fill your body... we could drain you to near death, and then fill you with blood again, and if the tainted blood were gone, you might have a chance at keeping your toxicity at zero. At the very least, it would buy you more time. This only proves that the blood in your body can be clean, the curse doesn't extend to new blood. But that's a step. But finding your blood..."

Ben nodded. He knew what came next. "Would prove difficult. And I have a rare type. A rare type of wizarding blood is difficult enough. If any exist like me, which is slightly unlikely, it would have to be someone who is also willing to donate blood more often than they're supposed to. They'd be weak, they'd miss work or school... for a stranger." He let his head fall. "I'll check anyway. See if there's anyone that's a match for me. I can always try and talk them into it."

There were mutters around the circle of people. Someone would have to really mean it to be able to actually help Ben. A full transfusion.

Ben himself shook his head. The man previously known as Draco Malfoy, tricking another helpless person into giving up too much of themselves for him. He'd already dragged Hermione into this mess, but a stranger? That much blood? It would be tough to find someone. He stood, waving his wand to clear his work station. "It's my only choice for now. I'm going to check." Those around voiced their agreement, and before anything else could be said, Ben Holloway found himself stepping into the lifts that would take him to the main level of the ministry building, where he could use the Floo to get to St. Mungo's in seconds.

Just minutes ago, he thought he'd be dead by the end of the week. Now, he thought he might have a cure, if he was lucky enough. He nearly smiled at the prospect, before he remembered that if he failed to find someone, he'd still be dead.

* * *

"Ready?"

Hermione looked sideways at her companion, his soft gold hair glinting in the harsh white lights of St. Mungo's. Carrick held his clipboard tight to his chest, shielding himself from the reality of the situation, which was that he'd made one girl comatose and still hadn't managed to cure the other one.

Hermione nodded, closing her eyes briefly. One more moment of quiet, of not having too look, before...

She stepped through the doorway and stifled a gasp. She hadn't been to see Ginny in days, but it appeared that there was already a change in the girl. Where before she'd been pale, her face limp and her head lolling about on the pillow, today she looked... peaceful. She was curled mostly on her side, her color had returned, and she simply looked as if she were sleeping. She can tell from the sound of hurried scratching sounds behind her that Carrick is taking notes, his pencil flying across the paper to record this new information. When, after a few moments, Hermione had still not been able to utter a word, Carrick cleared his throat.

"I almost became a Healer, you know. I went through school to become one, finished top of my class. But at the same time... I started noticing that my approach to healing was different than those around me. I started noticing things others didn't, and asking questions. I see these correlations when people come to me about psychological spell damage, or curses of the mind, that other people don't see. I feel like I know them more intimately than most Healers, like I speak their language. Instead of applying for a position at St. Mungo's, which I was urged to do, I became this sort of rogue specialist. Only one of my kind. I am not technically employed by any one source, but those who have need of me, know of me, and call on me when there is a job for me to do. Became something of a legend in my graduating class. I... oh, speaking of. Mildred Fairchild, it's been some number of years since we've seen each other."

Hermione whipped around to see a wisp of a woman at the door. She seemed to be gliding in, effortlessly, and when she noticed who it was that had spoken her name, she did the first ungraceful thing so far and nearly shouted in recognition of Carrick, who continued smiling.

"It would be you! Oh, we've all been worried about you, haven't heard from you in months. Is this your new case? I've only been assigned to her this morning, how lucky, now I've seen you..."

Carrick turned his face down towards his notes, grinning. Hermione thought she noticed a flush of pink in his face as he carefully picked his next words. "Lucky... yes. Lucky. No, she's not my case. This one is." He hitched his thumb at Hermione, who smiled politely while Mildred's face turned from that of curiosity, to confusion, to immediate understanding.

"Hermione Granger! Oh! That's two very unexpected people in one day. I'm Healer Fairchild, it's an honor, but please, call me Mildred. I was in school with Carrick for years... he disappeared on us just after commencement." Her dark eyes flitted back and forth between Carrick and Hermione, and when she shook herself back to the present and turned toward Ginny, Hermione had a funny little moment where she realized that Mildred reminded her so very much of a little bird, exactly as Carrick had when she'd seen him above her during their experiment. A pair of birds, one with pale skin and dark features, and another made entirely of gold. A pair of birds, which she immediately noticed, were having a hard time speaking to each other. Carrick, usually full of opinions and guesses, had his lips sealed tightly, though he made quick glances upwards whenever he thought he wouldn't be seen.

Hermione stepped closer, whispering as low as she could. "Carrick, are you alri-"

"Shhh." He gave Hermione a sidelong glance, winking. "Later." She could only nod, waiting while the tiny healer woman took notes, made adjustments to Ginny's sleeping position, and then said her goodbyes to them both, telling Carrick that she hoped she'd see him again soon. When she was finally down the hall - confirmed by Carrick, who all but pressed his face to the glass window to make sure - he sighed.

"Mildred Fairchild. Second in our class. Was horribly upset with me for most of our last year because I was unconventional, until I taught her what I knew about minds and how they work. About how they could be effected by magic, and how I hoped to help. I told her I'd been working on a fix for those driven insane by torture, something that might be useful following the war that we all knew would happen - this is nearly two years ago, of course - and she started to see why I was as... eccentric as I am. Started calling a bit more, too. We... well, we went out once, just before graduation, but when I split off to do my own thing, we never heard from each other again. Her hair is longer, but I still recognized her immediately. The only girl that's ever caught my eye more than science and magic did..."

Hermione smiled. "You like her still, don't you? You couldn't stop looking at her."

He nodded, looking out the window again. "I might. I don't have time to go and meet people. I thought about owling her a dozen times, but I thought she might have found someone by now..."

"Well, she didn't have a ring on her finger, and she appeared to be quite interested in seeing you again. You should..."

"And what about our patient here, hmm?" Carrick said this louder than he needed, and Hermione understood that she'd probably embarrassed him. Though she'd always known Carrick to be rather direct, usually a bit silly, his red cheeks betrayed the fact that he could still be shy about some things, and that she should probably just drop it.

"She seems well. Better than she was, at least. Her chart..." Hermione picked up the clipboard at the end of the bed, noting the most recent entries. "Her chart says her brain function is returning, slowly. She was moving her hands last night in her sleep, and has rolled over a few times into a more comfortable position."

"That's good. All good... it could take some time, but she'll wake up. I just know it. And Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"I know what you've been thinking - especially after our experiment with the Zabini boy. Ginny can't be having nightmares, not like this. Her brain functions are too low to permit it."

She let out a sigh of relief. She could hardly handle one night of fright, let alone three straight weeks. She let out another breath, touching the end of the bed. "I thought... I thought she might be stuck with them. Like it might have been stuck in her brain, since she never really woke up."

Carrick shook his head, finally lowering his clipboard, apparently done with his notes. "No, I'm not sure that's even possible, but it's definitely not happening. See this readout here?" He pointed to a wire that had been placed on Ginny's temple, which ran to the edge of a sleek-looking quill which was listing slightly upwards and downwards, never straying far from the same height. "That measures her brain activity. What it's doing. When we think, when we dream, anything like that, it moves - the slight wave that's there just means she's stable. But if she were to receive some sort of stimuli...", he steps down towards the bottom of the bed, flipping the sheet back over Ginny's ankles and running his finger up the bottom of her foot, as if to tickle her. The quill jumps upwards, wavering for a minute at a peak before returning slowly to the middle level again. "Her brain activity jumps. If she were having nightmares, that quill would be steady at the top of the chart, dropping only when she wasn't seeing things. But the readouts look stable." He unrolled a bit of parchment that seemed to have wound itself into a roll on the ground, that had come from the quill, and the only spike had come from Carrick tickling her feet, and moments earlier when Mildred had been in to shift Ginny's position. Everything else was normal.

Hermione had still been having nightmares, but she hadn't seen anything. She'd heard voices, whispers, though none of them were familiar. All of them were threatening, descriptive accounts of torture of those she held dearest. Once she heard something that sounded like Ron might have said it, but in the morning she'd thought over it and had to remind herself that it was just her mind playing tricks on her. Ron could not speak to her through her dreams. Ron was gone, that was final. Even now, days later, she clenched her hands into fists to steady herself. One thousand one, one thousand two...

Carrick made a noise behind her, and Hermione turned around to see another person in the room - this time, it was Harry, and he looked sheepish.

"Harry! I'm sorry, we were just taking some notes, checking in on her, we both took a half day to come see her..."

He stepped closer, smiling. "No, it's fine." He looked over Hermione's shoulder to Ginny, resting peacefully. "I came by a few days ago but they were doing some testing so I couldn't come it. I decided to try again today. I haven't been in a week."

"Harry, you really should come by more often. She'll be upset if she finds out you were only here once or twice..."

"I know, I know. But I want to talk to her, and I can't do that while she's... like this. It's unnerving, to just see her lying there." He took the final steps towards Hermione, slipping his arms around her waist. "And I've been trying to see you, but you've been hard to reach..."

Hermione leaned her head on Harry's chest, letting out a sigh. "I know. I've been busy. Things have been... difficult. She looked up into his eyes, trying to convey the idea that she was struggling not only with her own problems, but with those of the man she lived with, as well. Harry nodded, seeming to understand.

"So, Ben? He's alright?"

"He's been better."

Harry nodded in understanding, crossing the room to sit on the edge of Ginny's bed.

"I feel like some part of this is my fault. That's why I can't visit. Like if I'd have been able to better explain... no, if I'd have been able to be truthful... things would be different. She wouldn't be here, like this."

"You can't blame yourself, Harry. It's more my fault than yours. I made a deal with her that she wouldn't want to say no to... she agreed. We're more at fault than you are."

Carrick chuckled in the background, seemingly forgotten. "It's more my fault than both of yours - I let it happen, despite warnings that it shouldn't. But that's for another day... the two of you are busy, Hermione, I'm going to head back to the office to speak with Hendricks about these notes here... I'll see you tomorrow."

"Carrick, wait, I..." But he was already out the door, headed in the direction he'd seen Mildred walking - the opposite of the way out. Interesting...

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What if things were different? What if she hadn't done this? I still... there are things I have to talk to her about. Serious things. You wouldn't have had whatever deal you have going with her, but... who else would you have used? And why do you think Ginny dislikes you so much?"

Hermione shut her eyes. He'd finally admitted it - that he understood that Ginny had some sort of dislike for Hermione. But Hermione thought she knew part of the reason, as Draco had explained it to her, and if he was right, Harry wouldn't be asking unless he wanted to breach the topic with her.

"Harry, let's... let's go grab coffee and talk about this somewhere else. Tonight?"

"I leave for a short mission tonight. What about now? You said you took a half day, and that bloke you were with has just gone back, so you're free, aren't you?"

She supposed she was. Nodding, she re-buttoned her coat and stood, heading towards the door. "As long as I'm back in time to help... to help Ben back. He's not feeling well at all. I was thinking we could visit that muggle cafe, so that we might be able to talk a little more privately."

She hoped he wasn't going to confess that he had feelings for her, or that he wasn't going to say something rash. But with Harry... his emotions were hardly ever in check, and he tended to be a bit sensitive. All she could do was hear him out, and if he did say anything, she could turn the conversation away very quickly. When Harry caught up with her at the door, after saying his goodbyes to his comatose girlfriend, Hermione stepped out the door of Ginny's room - only to be slammed into by a passerby who immediately stopped, apologizing. After only a few words, he stopped, and Hermione knew she recognized his voice.

 _"Ben._ What are you doing here?"

"Work things... something I needed for research." His eyes were not on her, however, but on Harry. Was he not happy to see Harry trailing behind her? She notices that his legs look stiff, as if they're sore or in pain, and knows he must have restrengthened them throughout the day just to keep himself upright. "I'll tell you more later. But first, would you mind if I had a word with Harry in private?"

Startled, she stepped out of the way, letting the two men look each other over for a minute before nodding. "Sure. We were just leaving. Go ahead..."

Ben's brow raised, and Harry simply nodded, following him down the hall and through a set of doors. Hermione could watch them both through this vantage point, but could not hear what they were saying. Was he telling Harry about the deal between Hermione and Ginny? She'd always known that he didn't agree with the deal, that he thought she should not have to give up her best friend for this to work... but would he really tell Harry everything? But he's speaking calmly, and Harry is only nodded. It's only after a few moments that she realizes that neither of them have looked backwards towards her. Maybe it didn't concern her at all. But then what would he need Harry to know, and what couldn't he say in front of Hermione?

She saw Ben roll his eyes, unsmiling, while he still talked. He wags his finger between himself and Harry, pointing themselves in turn. His face betrays his emotion - he seems put out by something. But she sees Harry nodding, not quite eagerly but with some determination behind it. Ben lets out a breath, and Hermione wonders what could have just gone on between them. Before she has any more time to guess, she witnesses them shaking hands, nodding, and walking back towards her. She waits, pretending not to have just watched their every move, as they both step up to her, with faces that look as if they're both asking her out for coffee. The two men exchange glances, and instantly Ben steps back, his eyes falling on Hermione.

"No, no, you go. Grab coffee. I interrupted. I can always speak with her later..." Ben smiles, finally looking into Hermione's eyes, though she can't quite read him.

Harry attempts to stammer out a refusal, saying that of course she should go with Ben, but Ben takes those few moments to step forward, plant a chaste kiss on Hermione's lips, and step back.

"I'll see you at home."

Though he wobbled a little as he walked away, Hermione knew he would be alright until she got home.

"So... coffee?"

Harry's tone had changed, though she couldn't say how. It was almost as if he were trying to disguise the fact that he'd gone off to talk to Ben at all, but Hermione didn't fall for that for a second. She nodded.

"Yes, I'd like that." While they walked out of the building, Hermione debated the best way to ask Harry what had just happened. When they finally reached the door and she had no better idea than she had when they'd begun walking, she resorted to just blurting it out.

"What did he want to talk to you about?"

Harry fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. "It's not important. It's private. It's... well, I can't say for sure since you won't tell me, but you have a deal with Ginny, and I've just made a deal with Ben."

She panicked for just a second, worrying that Ben had been trying to scare Harry off before remembering that Ben was the one that was trying to get her to cancel her deal with Ginny anyway. Ben was the one trying to get her to stay friends with Harry in the first place.

"I... I see. Alright. It's personal."

"It is." Harry nodded, looking away briefly. Moments later, however, he huffed out a breath. Hermione watched the foggy breath leave his mouth, drifting upwards. "But I'm worried. About Ginny. I've been paying for her to receive the best care possible... Molly and Arthur don't really know, of course, but I think they know anyway... or they've guessed."

"I could help, too. I've got some money, since Ben won't let me pay rent or anything."

"Nonsense. Keep your money... I've got more than enough. You're just getting back on your feet. You've only been working on this for four months. Ginny should be awake... I don't know... they said at the soonest, within a week or two, and at the latest... well, if there is a latest, she won't wake up. But at the latest, a month or so, but they doubt it'll be that long. I'll pay as long as I need to. I still... I care about her, of course. She's still my girlfriend. I'm just worried about what will happen when she wakes up."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she'll be upset at having been in a coma. She'll want to know what went wrong. I don't even know all the details, since you can't explain everything. I know, because of this, that you have to work wherever you're being experimented on. Department of Mysteries, obviously. So if you can't tell me, and you can't tell Ginny, how did you get her to agree?"

"In truth? Half because of the deal, and half because I lied to her. I didn't tell her I worked there, just that that's where my experiments were taking place. That's the truth."

Harry said nothing, chewing on his lip until they turned another corner. Hermione could see that he was battling with... something. Inner demons, perhaps. Harry had always had plenty of those, and she knew he was never alone in that.


	22. Chapter 22

_"Imagine my surprise. I mean... I'd done the experimentation. I knew that a transfusion would be a viable option. It could cure me. I looked through the list. I must have checked the records four times, hoping for different results."_ _Ben lowered his head, fixedly staring at his shoes. Harry was standing just inches from him, hardly breathing. He knew Potter would say no, he knew this was a bad idea..._

_But he looked up, suddenly, as if he'd remembered something. "But naturally, yours was the only name on the list. There were other matches, of course - a dozen, I'd say - but none that lived close enough. Three were over a hundred years old, and I couldn't very well get them to donate most of their blood. But there was you, perfect Potter, and your blood type, and the fact that you'd been in twice since the war for checkups. Perfectly healthy."_

_Harry said nothing, only shifted on his feet. He'd been expecting a talk from "Ben", knowing that just behind this new face was Draco's, that the man inside was the same person, and yet not at all the same._

_Ben huffed again, squaring his shoulders. "That's the issue with wizarding blood. It's not like normal, muggle blood. Six or so types. Wizarding blood, in its own way, has dozens. Narrows the pool down, for me. They're like sub-types."_

_For the first time since Ben pulled him aside, Harry looks directly into the other man's eyes. "How is this even possible?"_

_Ben chuckled, looking up through the ceiling. "Fate playing a very divine, very unfunny trick on me. I know you don't approve of my relationship with Hermione. That's personal. But you should trust her. You've always trusted her. Just... unusual circumstances. Your parents, my parents, science, magic. Here I go spending the earlier half of my life spouting nonsense about purebloods and halfbloods, and it ends up that a halfblood is the only one who could save me. Naturally."_

_"Does Hermione know? About this?"_

_"She couldn't. I only just found out. I was checking the records right before I ran into the two of you, quite literally. I haven't even told her where I'm at in my research. Every time I fill her in, she gets more worried. Can't have that."_

_"So you're telling me... she doesn't know how bad you are? And how bad are you, really?"_

_"I was hoping you wouldn't catch that... look, you want the truth? She can't know. If she does, she'll drop her work. She's done it before. She'll focus on trying to save me, to find a way. And the truth is, Potter, I'm not sure that's even possible. There may not even be a fix. But this is my biggest hope. _If this doesn't work, I'll be dead some time in March. And while I'm sure you'd enjoy that thoroughly, she wouldn't, and I'd rather prefer to not give her more fuel for her nightmares. I can't have her doing this for me - dropping everything for me, to fix, to fail. She's got her own problems. If I die, I don't want her to think she could have done more. She is to know none of this. At all. You will lie if asked. It's complicated... the last time I told her my levels, it seems as if I would have a lot more time than I do. I think I told her July. I'm getting desperate. I need your help."__

__Harry let out a slow breath, looking between Ben and the hall beyond him. "Do you honestly think this will work?"_ _

__"We can have a preliminary go at it, if you'd like, but it's the only guess I've got. I have to believe it might work. It's the only thing I've found so far that lowers the toxicity. They've tried potions, materials, spells... nothing."_ _

__He cursed himself. He'd almost slipped, almost said something about his own testing, but his tongue had stopped him. Harry knew that Ben worked in the Department of Mysteries, but he didn't know that he was working on himself as Hermione was working on herself._ _

__"But yes, Potter. From what I've seen, it helps. It's the best shot I've got."_ _

__Harry didn't hesitate, not a second, and Ben was grateful for it. "Then I'll help." He stuck out his hand to shake Ben's, who gladly took it and shook it briefly. He couldn't form words of thanks. He couldn't say a think at all. The only thing he found himself able to do was lower his head slightly, grateful that Harry had some sense of decency that Draco Malfoy had not._ _

__The pair walked back around the corner, through the set of doors, and back towards Hermione. Ben glanced into Ginny Weasley's room just in time to see her hand twitch. He assumed it was a common sort of occurrence, as the mediwitch inside didn't bat an eye at it. When the pair finally arrived back at Hermione, both looked at her intently, as if to ask where they were headed. Ben noticed Harry's raised brow, and knew that Potter had been there first. Plus, he figured he owed him at least an afternoon's worth of time with Hermione. Potter had, of course, just agreed to donate blood weekly to save Ben's own life._ _

__"You two go ahead. 'Mione, I've got work to do anyway... I'll head back. I'll see you later tonight?"_ _

__She raised up on her toes, kissing his cheek. "Of course. I won't be late."_ _

__He watched her walk away next to Potter for some time before following their path out of the building. Hermione was no closer to fixing herself. Though her problem wouldn't kill her, it was taking sleep away from her, taking sanity away from her, taking her friends away from her. If he could get it all back for her, he would. But while he would have loved to drop his own research to focus on hers, he really had a much more important matter at hand. He'd be dead, if he did that. Nobody would benefit from that. Well, Hermione would inherit his things - his flat, his meager belongings, his money - but that might make it harder on her, naturally. Of course, for her to do that, he actually had to start preparing for his own death. He had to write a will - something he'd been putting off for months. Writing a will meant that death was close by. Writing a will meant that there was a possibility that it's contents would be read aloud to a room of people he knew (a room filled only with Hermione) and that his belongings would transfer hands. That he was gone. And despite his acceptance of this... curse, whatever it was... he wasn't ready to die. A second chance at life, only to die less than a year later. Shame._ _

__His first step out the door presented him with a wall of frozen air. Stepping through it felt like walking through water at the bottom of his family's villa in Spain, though much colder. He fought towards the corner, cursing the snow that nearly flew sideways in the wind. January was almost over. Would he even make it to February, or could he give up now? Just lie down on the sidewalk and be done?_ _

__But he remembers that February, and the experimentation done within it, could save him. Plus, there's Valentine's Day - a holiday he vehemently opposed until, naturally, this very second, at which he realized that he very much had a Valentine and could certainly treat her to a wonderful night out. He made a mental note to make reservations at the nicest restaurant in town, to maybe see a show afterwards before heading home to wine and candles. He might even tell her he loves her. The idea had been pouncing around in his head for a few weeks, though he'd been unable to vocalize it for fear of sounding like a little girl._ _

__He briefly considered apparating, but changed his mind. The walk would be good for him. It was only a few blocks, anyway, and at the least it wouldn't kill him. He stopped suddenly, turning his eyes towards the nearly white sky above him. He's going to tell her how much he cares, and he's going to show her. He has to, before it's too late. He's going to go to work, to set up an experiment that might very well save his life. March. If this doesn't work, he'll only last until March..._ _

* * *

First he held his cup. Then he set it down, and picked it up, at least four more times before decided he wanted more coffee. Harry's conversation with Ben had clearly shaken him, and Hermione couldn't quite figure out what to say to him. It seemed as if Harry wanted to say something - she knew the look well. Harry had occasionally been one to hold back his real opinions and feelings until goaded to give them up. If goading he needed, goading he would get.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

His eyes flicked up to meet her own, then fell back to his empty cup. "Lots of things."

"Oh, description of the year. Come on, Harry. You know you can tell me anything."

He hesitated once more before speaking. "I just... I don't know... if I want things to be the same. When Ginny wakes up, I mean."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean she's been... different." He groaned, running a hand through his already bedraggled hair. "She's been different since the war. Since sixth year."

"People change, Harry. That was over a year ago..."

"I know, I know. But I used to love her because she was just fun to be around. Always laid back, wanting to talk Quidditch or just hang out. She's not who I used to love. At all. I can't stand her sometimes. If I were normal... if we were normal... I'd have broken up with her already, I think."

"What about you isn't normal? This is your normal. That's for you to decide."

"Just... the war. Telling her I'd come back for her. I did, but she hasn't been the same."

"Oh, Harry. I think you're just being a little overly critical because she's in a coma. Before this all happened, you defended her quite often. You said she was just having a hard time, that it took some getting used to, that she'd be back to normal."

"But she isn't back to normal. And I'm afraid that when she wakes up, she'll be worse than before. Maybe I'm only remembering the bad things, but that's because it's honestly hard for me to remember the last really good time I had with her that didn't end in shouting. I don't... I can't handle that. I do so much for her. And I deserve to be appreciated."

Harry finally settled some internal battle within himself and stretched his hand across the table towards Hermione's, which had been resting idly by her cup. She took his hand in her own, remembering how innocent it all used to feel. She could lean on him in the common room with no strangeness at all. They would often whisper to each other in hallways, between classes, without a second thought. But the way his thumb ran over her wrist and the soft spots on her palm felt different. When she looked at him, he was looking at her differently, too. But he hadn't said anything, so it might not even be worth being concerned about.

Plus, his palms, dried slightly from the winter weather. They sparked an old memory in her, of another set of rough palms against her own. Ron. Ron's hands were always warm, despite the weather, and she'd spent quite a few nights in Sixth Year asking for Ron's hands to warm her own. His hands were so big, his fingers long enough to curl all the way over the back of her palm, and suddenly, she wanted to cry.

There were no nightmares attached, no bad memories. She had only just felt all of the loss of Ron Weasley in the palm of her hand, trapped there by Harry's hand. Moments passed, she wasn't sure how long, before she pulled back. Harry let her.

 _Minutes_. She'd had minutes with Ron. Between the time they'd kissed, the time they'd admitted their feelings for each other, and the time he... died. The time he was killed. Less than fifteen, she guessed. In those minutes she'd fought harder than before, empowered be the promise of a lifetime with someone she had hoped, for years, had loved her back. With her companion, her equal-and-opposite, her match. That lifetime - that forever - had ended in fifteen minutes, as she watched him sacrifice himself to save her. No chance to say goodbye.

She wanted to talk to Harry about it - to confront him, to ask him if his feelings were egged on by the loss of Ron, by the fact that there were only two remaining members of the trio they'd had before. She knew that was something special, that it created a bond between them, but she wasn't ready to confront Harry about how that might have morphed into feelings for her that she wasn't even totally sure he had. Instead, she cleared her throat, willing the moisture in her eyes away, and looked up just in time to see the check land on the table.

She let out a sigh of relief, reaching into her wallet and pulling out a few bills to cover the total.

"I've got to go, Harry. You should... go back to Ginny. You barely saw her. And I've got to get back to..."

As if by divine miracle, her phone began ringing shrilly. She turned it over to see Carrick's name popping out at her. "Back to work. We'll talk later." She pushed back her chair, stood, and left the shop before Harry even had a chance to ask her to stay.

"It would depend entirely on what you and Harry think."

Hermione shut her mouth, which had been gaping for moments before. Carrick had called her in for information that he said was 'best revealed in person. And sitting down'. So she'd apparated in an alleyway, slipped into the Ministry building, and got to her desk as quickly as possible. As soon as she'd sat down, he'd started. He had a theory. It had worked well in magical comatose patients before. It was a technique for waking them up. It could help Ginny retain her memories better, so that she could tell them what she'd seen while she'd been with Hermione's consciousness. It would take a few days to go into effect, but could be started immediately.

She didn't know what to say, at first. On one hand, Harry had just told Hermione that he might want to break up with Ginny. On the other, she knew that if Harry saw Ginny again, he might feel differently. And that perhaps Ginny might act differently, having seen what was in Hermione's mind when she had her nightmares.

Her best idea, she thought, was also her worst. She decided to lie.

"I was just with Harry. Went for coffee. He wants his girlfriend back and I... I'm worried about her. How soon can we start?"

"As soon as tonight. But a quick question - did you notice anything strange, coming to meet me just now?"

"I... no, not really."

Carrick frowned, scribbling onto the clipboard on the desk. "Well, for one, you think this is your desk. It has two of your files on it, but it is not. You think it's your desk because I'm sitting at it, and I usually take over your desk when I show up. Which desk is actually your desk?"

She stammered, looking around them. Not her desk? But she'd been sure... Carrick was there, always sat at her desk...

"Your desk is just a row over. I was testing you. Your memory is awful, I've said it before." He sighed, flipping back through a few sheets of paper. "This is the third time you've done this. Do you remember any of it?"

Third? How? She didn't remember any of that. "I... I know I had to look for you once. You told me so."

"The second time I didn't mention it. I let you work at Woolrich's desk for nearly an hour. Hermione, you've got to focus. Keep your memory up, or it'll be gone."

"I've got a lot on my plate, if you haven't noticed."

Carrick put his hands up in mock surrender. "I know. I understand. But as your specialist, I'm just looking out for you. And you're not doing well. On that end of things, how have your nightmares been?"

Hermione thought back to the most recent few - what she could remember. "Voices. Urging, telling me things. But nothing I could see."

Carrick nodded, looking pleased. "I had a feeling. It seems as if your consciousness is linked with Ginny Weasley's, at least while she's comatose. She never woke up, so the spell was never broken. She still has a part of your consciousness floating around in her brain."

"Could that have anything to do with my memory?"

"It's possible, but unlikely. With curse damage like this... memory loss is common."

Hermione nodded, stepping over a row to sit at the desk she now knew to be hers. "I wish we could hear from Ginny. I need to know what happened."

"Well, it didn't fully work, obviously. But it was probably the biggest hit we've given it so far. We'll have to do some further testing... try a new direction. See if anything else works better. But once I start the process tonight, it'll only be a few days before we hear from her again. It shouldn't take long at all until we have a full account of everything she saw, heard, and felt. But as for now, we're at the end of this rope. If you can't think of someone who thinks less of you than Ginny that you could get to agree to this, we're done with this road, for now. We've got to search out other options."

Hermione looked up to the high, arching stone ceiling. Back to square one. She hoped, at least, that Ben was doing better in his research than she was doing in her own.


End file.
